A Wolf Amongst Lions
by Kallypso
Summary: Tywin Lannister discovers the true identity of his cup bearer at Harrenhal. Now, with another bargaining chip in his possession, he has a chance to turn the war. Arya Stark, despite her best efforts, falls back into the Game of Thrones. To survive in a lion's den, a wolf has no choice but to adapt. Game of Thrones AU, diverging story from season two onward. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

_**A/N: And here we are...starting another fanfic. Because of course I am. This one is very much an original story post season two. Everything will be different, including the timeline of some major events. I started this fic because I am honestly so intrigued by Tywin and Arya's dynamic and I wanted to write more of them interacting. And apparently I just love throwing Arya in amongst the Lannister family. Sorry Arya!**_

 **A Wolf Amongst Lions**

 **Chapter 1: Wolf in Sheep's Clothing**

"That's Arya Stark of Winterfell, my lord."

Tywin remembered very clearly the moment he heard those words from Peytr Baelish. It brought a mix of emotions: both triumph and frustration. Triumph that they had another bargaining chip in this war-two Stark girls instead of one. Frustration that he had not seen it sooner.

He knew she was from the north. He knew she was a noble girl by her speech and education. He knew she was on the run from something. All of those pieces should have connected far sooner. Perhaps they would have, had he not been so focused on stopping her damned brother and his north men.

 _Arya Stark, right under my nose,_ he thought. _I wonder if she has been reading our letters._

She was a smart girl, travelling as a boy and keeping her head low. But she was just a bit too smart for her own good. It showed. It made her obvious. He would have been willing to let her slip by if she was any other northern girl.

Not Arya Stark, however.

"You wouldn't have known, of course," Littlefinger continued. "You never met the girl, or any of the Stark children for that matter."

"No," Tywin said.

"Shall I bring her to you?" Littlefinger asked. "I can arrange for-"

"No," Tywin said. "She'll be along shortly. I'll handle her then. I can handle this on my own."

Lord Baelish inclined his head. "I'll leave to you then. In the meantime, I shall go to High Garden to negotiate with the Tyrells."

"Good," Tywin said. "Make sure they do not declare for anyone but King Joffrey."

Tywin did not act immediately on Lord Baelish's words. Not yet. He wanted to see how well the girl lied when he tested her. He asked her questions, wondering if she would give herself away.

 _If you're going to pose as a commoner, you should do it properly._

 _My mother served lady Dustin for many years, my lord. She taught me how to speak proper. Properly._

She was a quick liar, but easy to see through.

She reminded him very much of Cersei when she was younger. Daring, and utterly disdainful of the role society laid out for her as a woman. Yet as the daughter of a great noble house, there was very little that she could do.

He let her play her game for a little longer, until the winds of war changed at it came time to move out again.

When his generals left the room to prepare and Arya began to slip away, Tywin stopped her.

"Girl...Come here a moment."

* * *

Arya's mind was racing. Lord Tywin meant to ride out that night, and she had to find Jaquen before he did. If she could kill him, perhaps that would cripple the Lannister army in the fight against Robb. It was a good choice, she knew. The best possible choice for her third name.

The Lord of House Lannister was surprising. She had heard many awful stories about him, and while he was certainly a man to be feared, she did not fear him as much as she should. She hated him, primarily for his name and for his campaign against her brother. But he had done little to wrong her personally. He was miles away when Joffery took her father's head.

His was a strange inclusion her list, because she did not yet have something to blame him for. But she would do it. She would find Jaquen and give him the name.

"Girl...Come here a moment."

Arya paused, fighting the urge to curse under her breath. She had to find Jaquen as soon as possible. Slowly she turned to face Tywin.

"Yes, my lord?"

Tywin motioned for her to sit across from him. It was clearly not a suggestion. Slowly, Arya moved toward the table, perching herself on the edge of her chair, in case she needed to make an escape. He seemed to notice.

"Are you planning to run?" Tywin tilted his head to the side. "What do you think I am going to do with you?"

Arya shook her head. She didn't know, but something about this did not feel right. "Do you...mean to take me with you? As your cup bearer."

"I do plan to take you with me, yes," Tywin held her gaze. "What's your name, girl. You never said."

The question threw Arya off guard. He had never asked and she thought he never would. She scrambled for an answer, saying the first name that came to mind. "Jeyne...Poole," she managed.

Tywin's mouth twitched. "You seem uncertain of that."

"I'm not," Arya said firmly. "It's Jeyne Poole."

"You're lying," Tywin said. "Let's try, once again. Tell me your name."

Icy dread spread through Arya's chest, and her hands shook. He looked at her with the eyes of a man who already knew the answer. "Do you...already know my name... my lord?" she murmured.

"Yes," Tywin said. "I do. I may not have known your face, but Lord Baelish did. You must have suspected he would. You got very tense around him."

Arya swallowed a lump in her throat. Then she tried to bolt.

He had predicted this. He stood at the same moment she did, holding her fast by her shoulders. She twisted and struggled in his grip but it did not give. Her size worked against her here. He was much stronger than her.

"Let me go!" she demanded.

"You know I'm not going to do that," Tywin said.

Arya squirmed and tried to wiggle free but his grip only tightened like a vice around her.

"Settle yourself, Lady Arya. You'll never make it out of here without at least one of my soldiers catching you. And they might not treat you as kindly."

Arya's heart beat a fast pace against her chest. She wanted to fight him off, to claw his eyes out. She wanted a wolf's form to break through her small human shape and rip out his throat. But caught in the lion's jaws, she felt more like a helpless girl.

She stilled, drawing in a few deep breaths. He looked down at her. "Are you done?"

Arya gave a small nod.

Tywin kept his grip for a moment longer. Then he let her go. "Good. Sit."

Arya sank slowly into her chair. "You've known...Since Littlefinger came?"

"Yes," Tywin said.

"Then why didn't you mention it earlier?" she asked.

"It was not necessary then," Tywin said. "And I wanted to see how well you would lie."

Arya looked up at him. "How did I lie?"

"Well enough," Tywin said. "For someone who comes from so honest a family." He tilted his head to the side. "You must hate me deeply. A wonder you did not poison my cup."

"I hate your family," Arya agreed. "They killed my father."

"King Joffrey did kill your father, yes," Tywin said. "It was a dreadfully stupid thing to do. Your father could have been the key to making peace with the North. I very much wish he was alive."

"Not as much as I do." Arya murmured.

Tywin observed her for a long moment. "No. Not as much as you do."

"I was there that day," Arya said. "Even after my father gave him his confession, and said everything he wanted, he still took his head because the crowd wanted it." Her hands clenched into fists. "I would kill him if I could."

"I imagine. But you can't," Tywin said.

"Kings die all of the time," Arya said. "Everyone dies."

"You should mind that tongue of yours," Tywin said. "Being so honest is what gets you Starks in trouble."

"I'm already in trouble," Arya said. "You know my name. You won't give me a chance to escape."

"I won't," Tywin agreed.

"Will you send me back to King's Landing?" Arya asked.

"I've thought about it," Tywin said. "I don't suppose it would be a pleasant experience for you. Kept a captive in the Red keep with your sister...Joffrey does despise you for that business with your wolf. I can't imagine he would treat you kindly. I don't think my daughter likes you very much either."

"I don't like her," Arya muttered.

"Yes, but she has more power in this situation, so how you feel doesn't matter," Tywin said.

Arya shivered. Truthfully, the thought of returning to the Red Keep terrified her. What would they do to her there, now that her father was not around to protect her? Sansa was still alive. It amazed her that she had managed it this long. Arya wasn't sure how long she would last without wanting to throw herself from the tower.

"I can offer you an alternative," Tywin said. "One that might be more favorable to you."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Will you let me go?"

"Of course not. I'm not stupid. But I might need you as a bargaining chip on the battlefield. You could continue to pose as my nameless cup bearer for a time. I won't let you out of my sight and neither will my generals." He leaned forward. "But if you try to run, you will be caught and I will ship you back to King's Landing to be at the mercy of Joffrey and his mother."

Arya pressed her lips together in a tight line. If she could pick her companions, she far preferred Tywin. He seemed to tolerate her at least, even when she was careless with her words. Not to mention, being on the battlefield could put her closer to Robb.

She knew Tywin would not tolerate an escape attempt though. He would keep her carefully guarded.

"Well?" Tywin asked.

Arya nodded once. "I will take your offer...my lord."

Tywin nodded once, as if he expected this. "I don't imagine you have any possessions to gather."

Arya shook her head. Everything had been taken from her long ago. Her sword, her family...now her freedom. She had nothing left but her own name. Even that seemed cursed.

"Good," Tywin said. "We ride tonight."

* * *

 _ **A/N: So it begins. Review and tell me what you think. I truly love writing from Tywin's perspective. He's one of my favorites. Until next time, happy reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2: A Bold Pawn

_**A/N: Well, I had another chapter ready so...here we are. Chapter two. This ones a bit longer and has a lot of interesting interactions between Arya and Tywin.**_

 **Chapter 2: A Bold Pawn**

The girl changed everything about this war, though she did not even know it yet. Suddenly, Tywin had a second bargaining chip-one that no one else knew about. He could bring her out at any time, whenever it most suited his needs.

She was a pawn on his board now, and he knew she must hate him for it. She would hate him more before this war ended, especially if he used her against her family.

There was still the matter of Jaime of course. He could not use the Stark daughters to sue for peace when the Starks had Jaime. If they had no hostage, it would be a different story. He would hold all the cards, and though Robb Stark talked a strong game, he was loyal to his family.

He would not choose war over the lives of his sisters. His mother would not either.

In the meantime, Tywin found Arya Stark far more tolerable company as his cup bearer than _any_ of his generals. They were all worthless, it seemed, when they lost even a few hours of sleep. No one had any ideas on how to fight the young wolf _or_ Stannis Baratheon, who was planning attack on King's Landing very soon.

He found himself staring furiously at a map long after his general's had left. Only Arya remained, collecting empty cups of wine.

"When will Stannis attack king's Landing?" she asked. She was bolder with questions now that he knew her name. She knew that he could not harm her yet.

"Soon," Tywin said. "But if we leave to deal with him, we give your brother too much ground."

Arya shrugged. "Well, you can't deal with my brother before Stannis."

Tywin tilted his head to the side. It seemed the girl wanted to try her hand at strategy, and after the disastrous meeting with his generals, he was inclined to hear anything. "And why is that?"

"I read in a book once..." Arya shifted, almost nervously, as if she had not expected him to actually ask. "When fighting a war on multiple fronts...you have to consider what those fronts want. That determines the immediate problem."

"I've read the same," Tywin said. "So tell me: What does Stannis want and what does Robb want?"

Let's see how she did when tested.

"Stannis wants the iron throne," Arya said. "Robb wants the north. Stannis is trying to take what is yours. Robb isn't." She thought for a moment. "Well he _is_ if you considered the north yours. It's just not as important as the crownlands."

"Correct," Tywin said. "If your brother takes back the ground we currently have, it is a loss...but not as much as the loss of King's Landing."

"Then doesn't the answer seem obvious," Arya said.

Tywin almost laughed. She really was too bold for her own good. She might already be dead if he had sent her to King's Landing. "If all strategy was that obvious, the war would be an easier game," Tywin said. "First, you assume that Stannis will succeed in his attack. It is possible that he will fail, and if he does, pulling our armies will be for nothing. We have to judge if it's worth the risk. Beyond that, Robb Stark may only want the North but he's willing to attack other places to get it. He _is_ coming for what belongs to us in order to see his demands met. And he has my son, which means he can do so without worry of me killing his sisters. He grows braver with every victory, and if we retreat, he will become braver. He might even be emboldened to march on Casterly Rock."

Arya fell silent. She had clearly not thought of any of this.

"You're well read," Tywin said. "But reading alone never got a man through a battle. You need experience to really know how a war is fought."

"My brother doesn't have experience." She looked up at him. There was a challenge in her eyes. The damn girl really was fearless.

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "There's that tongue of yours again. Be careful. I may not be Joffrey...but I meant when I said that you would regret defying me. Do not forget that. Those who have don't last long."

Arya dropped his gaze and went back to cleaning up the table. There was still a flash of fear in her. If she got much braver, he might have to put an end to that.

It would be a shame. Her boldness amused him.

* * *

Tywin kept Arya close, and she had few opportunities to even think about escape. He slept very rarely, when he did, he assigned trusted guards to watch her. She was never alone.

It was suffocating, but better than King's Landing. No one looked at her as a lady. They mostly ignored her. Only Tywin knew her true identity. She wondered his purpose for keeping such a secret. Perhaps he worried that Stark spies would find out about her and alert Robb before he was ready.

He did not seem worried about her listening into any of their strategies, and he let her speak on the meetings when his generals had left. It seemed he was always testing her.

She did not mind being tested. Her obsession with history and warfare was always dismissed as unladylike by Septa Mordane. Her father would discuss it with her, but even he was reluctant to let her dwell on dreams of being a warrior. Tywin let her speak about her interests quite openly. She wasn't used to that.

"It seems you studied your history far more than your sewing," Tywin commented one late evening.

"I was always terrible at sewing," Arya said. "Septa Mordane said I had no eye for detail."

"That doesn't seem to be true," Tywin said. "You remember all of the names of the Targaryens and the battles and their dragons. You even know the names of their swords. Even I cannot boast that."

"It was the wrong kind of detail for me to know," Arya said. "But yes, I remembered. I always wanted a dragon and a named sword."

"Naturally, you got neither," Tywin said.

"That's not true," Arya said. "I had a sword with a name. My brother gave it to me. I called it needle."

Tywin laughed once. His laughs always sounded harsh and joyless, like he hadn't practiced them enough. "I thought you weren't good at sewing."

Arya almost smiled in return. "I was getting good with that needle. I had a teacher. Father called him a dancing master so that no one would know."

"Did he?" Tywin said. "Where is this needle of yours now?"

"One of your men took it from me," Arya said. "Polliver, I think his name was. I don't know if he still has it. It's too small for him anyway."

"True, but he could hardly let a prisoner keep it," Tywin said.

Arya shrugged and looked away. She wanted needle back very much. It was the only thing she had of Jon. It was the only thing she had of any of her family, besides memories.

"In any case, it would not do to give you a sword now," Tywin said.

"Because I'm a girl?" Arya muttered.

"No. Because I don't trust you with one, Lady Arya. You may be a little wolf, but you are a wolf all the same."

In spite of herself, Arya grinned. She liked to be thought of as a wolf. People used to call her wild as an insult but she always saw it as a compliment. Strong women were often wild. So were dragons.

More than once, Arya found herself fighting smiles in Tywin's presence. The head of House Lannister never smiled, but he did seem consistently amused with her. Arya was not sure if that was a good thing or not.

He had his boundaries, of course. She dared not talk about his son, still imprisoned in Robb's camp. She dared not talk of Robb's victories. Most of all, she dared not try to escape. She had seen his kindness for people who broke their word. He hung the lucky ones. Others did not end so well.

In any case, Tywin was not her biggest problem. She worried far more about the guards.

He did not tell the guards who she was-only that she was important and needed to be carefully guarded. She could not be allowed to escape.

But while soldiers could be trusted to keep her from escaping, they could not be trusted in some other matters. Arya noticed them leering at her. They had begun ever since they found out she was a girl. More than one asked if she was a woman grown. She did not reply.

A man named Ryder was the very worst of them. He asked her all sorts of queries about who she was, but also far more invasive questions. She had never had anyone talk to her in such a way before, because she was Arya Stark and her father would have killed the man who did it. But her identity was still a secret to others. To the guards she could be anyone.

She did not sleep when he was near in case she had to claw his eyes out. She dug her nails into her palms and forced herself to stay awake, glaring at him in silence.

She began to drift during meetings as he became one of her more constant guards. Occasionally when someone asked for wine, they had to speak twice. Her mind began to blur from exhaustion.

"You're not sleeping, are you?" Tywin asked.

"I sleep when I can," Arya said.

"And is there a reason you cannot?" Tywin asked.

Arya pressed her fist against the side of her leg as she lied. "No. No reason, my lord."

She would not sink to asking him for help. She was a Stark and his prisoner. The wolf should not ask for help from the lion who caught her.

That night, she sat in the corner of her small tent as always, watching Ryder. He smiled back at her as her eyelids drooped. "Tired, girl? You haven't been sleeping well."

"I'm not," Arya muttered.

"You can sleep if you want," Ryder smirked. "I won't hurt you."

She dug her nails into her skin so hard they bled. "I'm not..." her eyelids were so heavy. "I'm not..."

* * *

She woke after a few minutes of sleep, which enough for Ryder to drag her from her tent an off into the shadows of the brush. She recognized it at once and lashed out, raking her nails down his face, leaving bloody lines behind. He screamed and threw her to the ground, drawing a knife. She tried to scramble back but he pinned her down, pressing his blade against her throat.

"You're not going to make a sound you little shit. You're going to be quiet or I'll tell Lord Tywin you tried to escape."

"And I'll tell him you were _lying_ ," Arya spat.

"Why would he believe you?" Ryder asked. He pressed his blade threateningly to her throat. "I don't know who you are, but you're a prisoner of some kind. What reason would he have to believe you?"

Arya gritted her teeth together, biting back her name as it rose to her lips. It wouldn't matter if she said it. He wouldn't believe her.

"What's all this?" someone asked from nearby.

Arya looked to the side to see two soldiers on patrol. One of them...One of them was Polliver. Arya could see her sword shining at his hip. He had kept it.

Ryder leapt off of her. "Just having a little fun."

"We are _not_ ," Arya snapped. "I'm Lord Tywin's prisoner. If you harm me, you'll be punished."

"Will we?" Polliver tilted his head to the side. Malice glittered in his eyes. "But I saw you escaping. We decided to teach you a lesson."

Arya hissed as he walked over to her. When he leaned down to touch her face she turned and bit down, hard on his hand. He screamed and drew back and as he did she seized her sword from his scabbard.

Needle felt familiar in her hand. Though they had parted long ago, she remembered her grip, and she remembered her teacher's words. Every one of them.

 _What do we say to the god of death?_

 _Not today._

The other guard came at her from behind to grab her. She spun the sword and jammed it backward on instinct. The point sunk through his gut with little resistance.

As the nameless guard fell back, Ryder lunged forward slashing at her with his knife. The blade cut a streak across her right cheek and she backed away-right into Polliver. He turned her and punched her hard in the gut, sending her to her knees. Arya almost blacked out.

 _No. Stay awake. Stay awake._

She gripped her sword with all her might.

"Little bitch," Ryder muttered. "Hold her down for me."

"Stop," a voice cut through the night, like thunder from a distant, raging storm. Arya recognized the anger in Tywin's voice and she wondered if it was at her. Perhaps he thought she had tried to escape.

"My lord," both of the soldiers stood at attention.

"Would you like to explain what you're doing?" Tywin asked.

"She was trying to escape," Ryder said. "We were teaching her a lesson. You said that escape was unacceptable."

"I said that if she escaped, you should bring her straight to me." Tywin looked down at Arya, an unreadable coldness in his gaze.

She shook her head unable to speak from the blow to the stomach. _I didn't,_ she thought. _I did not try to escape._

Tywin held out a hand. "Give me that sword, girl."

Arya handed over needle, slowly. She wondered for a moment if he might punish her with it. But then he turned and stuck the point through Ryder's throat. Arya's eyes widened as he coughed up blood, his eyes rolling back in his head. Tywin drew the blade back and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath that would not come.

Polliver's eyes widened and he took a step back as Tywin faced him. "The girl is valuable to me unharmed. Therefore, anyone who harms her will receive the same treatment. Consider this a rare warning from me."

"Yes, my lord," Polliver muttered.

"I'll take that sheath at your hip," Tywin said. "You won't need this sword. It's a child's toy anyway."

Polliver handed it over without question. Then he hurried away as fast as he could.

Tywin observed the blade for a moment longer before returned it to his sheath. "You were right to name this sword needle. It's quite thin."

"I didn't..." Arya had regained enough breath to speak. "I didn't run. He was lying."

"I know," Tywin said. "And you lied to me about the reason for your exhaustion today. Don't do that again. I despise being lied to."

Arya nodded once.

"Come." Tywin gestured for her to follow him. "We best see to that cut on your face."

* * *

The cut was minor. It might leave a scar, but it would be barely perceptible to the naked eye. That was good. Tywin needed her well if he was going to use her as a bargaining chip.

The girl watched him warily as he sat down at his desk, placing her sword in front of him. She had suspicious grey eyes. She kept looking to the sword, like a child in want of their favorite toy.

No...not a toy. She had known how to use it. One man was already dead when Tywin arrived. It seemed the girl was not just playing at being a knight from a song. She was willing to kill when necessary.

That made her both more dangerous and more fascinating to Tywin.

"The guards will not give you trouble anymore," Tywin said. "If they do, they'll be deaf fools who did not heed a warning, and I will see them punished for it."

Arya nodded once. She was rather silent. He wondered if the attack had scarred her. She was still very young. Thirteen, if he remembered correctly. Younger than Joffrey by two years. Tywin forgot that sometimes because she was quite a bit smarter.

"Did they take your tongue when they attacked you?" Tywin asked.

"No, my lord," Arya murmured.

"Did they take anything else?"

Arya shook her head. "They did not get the chance."

Tywin nodded once. "I will be awake for some time if you wish to rest. I don't want you knocking over goblets tomorrow during the meeting."

Arya swallowed thickly. "Yes, my lord." She glanced once more at her sword. "What...will you do with needle?"

"Keep it somewhere out of your reach," Tywin said. "But it will be safe enough. You have my word."

Arya nodded once. Tywin saw more words jumping at her lips but she was hesitant to say them. Hesitancy did not become her.

"You want to say something else. Speak," Tywin said. "I'm in no mood to guess."

Arya looked away, down at her hands. "Nothing...just..." She released a breath. "Thank you, my lord. For intervening."

Ah, so that was it. Retorts and dangerous comments came so easily to her, but thanks stuck in her throat, like she had never tasted the words before. Tywin supposed it was not often a wolf had cause to thank a lion-particularly a captured wolf.

"You do not need to thank me," he said. "You're too important for me to leave you to my men. They could have damaged you, and my son could pay the price. Understand?"

Arya nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer. It put her out of his debt.

"Good." Tywin said. "Now sleep. I won't ask again."

She obeyed, finding another corner of the tent where she could rest. Tywin kept an eye on her until her breathing steadied- a clear sign that she had fallen asleep. Then he returned to his papers.

This had been a very long war for both of them, and there was still a lot of war yet to come.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Next time, the tide of the war shifts dramatically. Where will it leave Arya? Review and subscribe to find out!**_


	3. Chapter 3: Turning Point

_**A/N: And we're back! I'm going to try to update consistently every Monday. This is a big chapter, in which the war reaches a turning point and Arya may be the key to ending it all. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 3: Turning Point**

Lord Baelish turned out to be useful after all. His negotiations with house Tyrell, particularly with Lady Olenna and Lady Margery, earned the Lannisters the army they needed to crush Stannis from behind at the battle of Blackwater. Meanwhile, Tywin could leave most of his army in the Riverlands to hold the line against the north.

One threat was dealt with. The Baratheons were gone or scattered and the Tyrells brought to heel. It left them an opportunity to focus on the Starks.

Arya Stark had clearly done the math on this fact. She looked more nervous of late as she listened to the battle meetings. He caught her glancing over her shoulder whenever she heard mention of her brother. There was a possibility that the war would turn, and Tywin imagined she was picturing the rest of her family's heads on spikes beside her father's.

She had every right to be worried, because the Stark boy had recently made some very crucial missteps in this war. First, he had executed Richard Karstark for killing two young Lannister hostages. It was a proper punishment for disobeying orders, but it lost him a sizeable house of allies.

Second, he had married some low born girl for love rather than keep his vow to Lord Frey. That was unexpectedly dishonorable of Robb Stark, though expectedly stupid of a seventeen year old boy. It gave Tywin satisfaction to see that the boy was not immune to incompetence. Walder Frey did not appreciate this slight, and was more than willing to speak with Tywin on the matter.

Third, he had gone and given the Greyjoy ward power in his army and the Greyjoy boy turned on him and joined his father in rebellion. Robb Stark's home was under attack and his younger brothers held hostage. He was stupid to trust a Greyjoy in the first place.

Fourth, he had failed to notice the turn of one of his other allies. Roose Bolton had long been disillusioned with this boy king, and sought a claim to warden of the north.

The noose was tightening on the Young wolf, on and off the battlefield, and he did not even know it. Tywin knew he had an opportunity to in this war. It would not be an honorable ending, but that mattered little to Tywin. He simply wanted to see this war finished so that they could focus on preparing for winter.

There would be problems following the fall of House Stark, of course. The North was stubborn and would be difficult without a Stark in Winterfell. They Greyjoys would also be a problem. But Robb Stark would never agree to peace after his father's death. Especially not when he still had Jaime.

His cupbearer in disguise knew nothing of these plans of his. She would find out eventually, and hate him deeply when she did. He did not mind that. Most people hated him. But if she grew too bold in her anger, he would have to put her down.

"Do you need something my lord?" Arya asked. She had noticed him watching her.

"No." Tywin rubbed his chin. "Actually...yes. An answer to a question." He leaned forward. "Your brother Robb. Were you close with him?"

Arya observed him suspiciously. "I'm not sure I want to answer that, my lord."

"No, but you will," Tywin said.

The girl looked down at her feet, as if thinking of a lie. But then she settled against it. "Yes. We were all close. I was always closest with Jon though."

"Your bastard brother?"

"Don't call him that." Arya's eyes seemed to flare with grey fire.

"Why not? That's what he is," Tywin said. "There is no sense in lying with kinder words."

Arya did not reply. She often became sullen when she did not have a retort. It reminded Tywin of Cersei when she was a child...and Cersei now, for that matter.

"If your brother had to choose between his sisters and his war, what would he choose?" Tywin asked. "In your honest opinion."

Arya did not look quite comfortable with this question. "I'm...not sure." She looked up at him. "He loves us dearly, but he loves the north too. He wants to do right by the north in father's absence. But...my mother is a Tully. Their words are family, duty, honor."

"Family first," Tywin said. "A sentimental notion. Will he follow your mother's words? Or your father's?"

"I don't know," Arya said. "If he refused to bend...would you kill me, my lord?"

She was a sharp girl. She knew that just because she was a lady did not make her immortal.

 _Anyone can be killed._

"That depends," Tywin said at last.

The flaps of the tent parted and Kevan rushed inside, panting for breath. "Tywin. We have a visitor."

"Good or bad?" Tywin asked.

"Good. Very good." Kevan held the flap aside. Tywin was stunned to see Jaime enter the tent.

He stood abruptly, nearly knocking back his chair. Tywin was not one to let his emotions get the better of him, but here, he could not hide his shock. Jaime had the gall to smile.

"I'm back."

He was. And with his arrival, the tide shifted again.

* * *

Arya was not an expert at war, but she did know the significance of Jaime Lannister entering the tent that evening. If he was here, he was not her brother's hostage. Tywin had more than once implied that Jaime was the only reason he could not harm Arya or Sansa, yet here he was, free.

"How did you get here?" Tywin asked.

"Walked a rather long way. With a very tall woman as my guide. You should see that she is properly compensated. She did a fine job protecting me on the way." Jaime Lannister sat down in front of his father's desk. "Ah yes. Catelyn Stark sends her regards.'

"Catelyn Stark let you go?" Tywin asked.

"Yes. She wished for me to negotiate for the release of her daughters," Jaime said. "I don't think her son would approve. None the less, if we consider this an exchange of hostages, it would be in good faith to return at least one girl."

Arya looked up, hardly daring to breathe. Return one girl. Could she truly return home? The thought made her whole body feel lighter.

"It would be...if we didn't still have a war to win," Tywin said. "My willingness to release her daughters depends entirely on whether or not they will accept my peace terms. Releasing you was stupid."

"It's wonderful to see you too father," Jaime said. "I'm all right, by the way. Unharmed. I'm sure you were wondering."

Tywin gave Jaime a glare that would have shattered most people like glass. But Jaime was Tywin's son. He was invincible to such things. Funny, for as much as Tywin claimed to care for his son's wellbeing, he was awfully cold to him. Arya's father was never so cold to any of his children.

"As it happens, I was wondering," Tywin said. "I've been doing my level best to win this war without provoking Robb Stark to harm you in anyway. You've been an obstacle for many months now. So don't be smug with me."

"You're full of warm words as always," Jaime retorted.

"Warm words don't win wars."

"I hear they can be nice from family."

"If you want warmth, you're welcome to continue south to King's Landing. I still have work to do here."

For a moment, a silence fell between them. Arya realized she had been completely still for the last minute, frozen in the middle of cleaning a goblet. Jaime seemed to notice and she quickly went back to cleaning.

"You cupbearer is rather attentive to our conversations," Jaime said. "Have you considered he might be a spy?"

" _She_ is not a spy," Tywin said, seemingly glad for a change in topic. "Come here, girl."

Arya swallowed hard, cautiously approaching the table. She felt the Kingslayer watching her, as if trying to place her face.

"Jaime, this is Arya Stark of Winterfell," Tywin said. "I believe you've met."

Jaime's eyebrows shot up. "Seven hells, it is. I didn't recognize her."

Arya cleared her throat. "That's... not surprising. We never spoke at Winterfell, my lord."

"No. I think I saw you running around with a helmet on in the courtyard once," Jaime said.

Arya's mouth twitched. "That does sound like me, ser."

"We have something in common, you and me," Jaime said. "I was a hostage to your family and now you're a hostage to mine."

"But my mother wanted you to negotiate for my return, doesn't she?" Arya said.

"Yes." Jaime glanced at Tywin. "But you see who I'm negotiating with."

Tywin did not take the bait of Jaime's comment, and he did not cut their conversation short either. Arya felt bold enough to ask another question.

"What else... what else did my mother say to you?"

"She insulted me a great deal. But at the end of the day, she let me go because she worried for you. And your sister of course." Jaime tilted his head to the side. "No one had heard a word about you. Some people thought you might be dead."

"As you can see, she's not," Tywin said. "For now, she poses as my cupbearer."

"An odd choice. Why not send her back to King's Landing?"

"I don't trust Cersei with her," Tywin said.

"Fair," Jaime said. "It's still an unusual job for a hostage."

"She was posing as my cupbearer when I discovered her identity. And she's good at it. I find her company more tolerable than most of my men," Tywin said. " _She_ doesn't waste my time with incompetence."

"Really." Jaime glanced up at Arya. "You know, that's the closet thing you'll get to a compliment from him. You should keep it close."

"Your time as a prisoner really has not sobered you," Tywin said. "You still take nothing seriously."

"If I took everything seriously, life would be much more depressing," Jaime said.

"This is war, Jaime. Better to be depressed than losing," Tywin said flatly.

Jaime tilted his head to the side. "What happens if we're both? I've heard Stannis Baratheon fell. That's good news. But the Young Wolf has been outplaying you."

"I have a way to end this war. Multiple ways, in fact, now that you've returned." Tywin nodded at Arya. "She has just become much more useful bargaining chip. Robb Stark no longer has anything he can use against me."

Arya swallowed hard. It seemed she would no longer be a cup bearer soon. In fact, depending on negotiations, she may not even be alive soon.

* * *

Arya dared not ask about Tywin's ways to end the war for the rest of the day. She kept her head down and her tongue silent. It wasn't that she wasn't curious. She wanted to know more than anything. But she feared for the lives of her family.

And for her own as well.

He noticed her silence. Tywin Lannister was an observant man and he missed nothing. "You're quiet today. I can see you turning over the future in your head."

"I'm not," Arya replied. "I'm not thinking about anything."

"You're lying to me again. What did I say about lying to me?"

Arya looked up at him. "Not to do it."

"Good. I'm glad your memory is still sound." Tywin indicated the chair in front of his table. "Sit."

Arya slowly put down the pitcher and went to sit down. Her heart hammered against her rib cage. Foolishly, she had hoped he would forget all about her if she was just silent. She hoped she might turn into a shadow. Shadows did not have to face their fate.

"Ask the question you've been wondering," Tywin said.

Arya bit her lip. "How can you...how can you end this war? You said you have more than one way."

"I do," Tywin said.

"Is there a way that does not end with most of my family dead?" Arya asked. She felt her hands shake as she asked the question. If he answered 'no' there was little she could do to stop him. Tywin was something like a storm-inevitable and merciless.

Tywin observed her for a long moment, letting the question hang in the silence. Then he nodded once. "Yes. There is a way."

Arya released a breath.

"Of course, I don't know if your brother will take it. He has proven very stubborn," Tywin said. "Until Jaime returned, I was inclined to go with a different option. But Catelyn Stark's love of her children has bought them one last chance to accept peace."

"Peace?" Arya asked.

"I'm willing to treat this Northern Rebellion the way Robert Baratheon did the Greyjoy rebellion," Tywin said. "It is much easier to keep a Stark in Winterfell than risk dividing the north so close to winter. And speaking of the Greyjoys, I would prefer the Starks deal with their attack themselves. I don't want to waste the soldiers on it. But if Robb Stark wants peace, he'll do it my way. No negotiation."

"And what is your way, my lord?" Arya asked.

"Guess," Tywin said.

It was another test. He did like testing her. Arya sat forward a bit in her seat. "The North would remain a part of the seven kingdoms, loyal to the realm. Robb would be the Warden of the North on the condition that he never rise up again, or else you would replace him with someone else. If he accepted, he would be required to execute any northern lords who did not to prevent further fighting in the north. And..." Arya trailed off.

Tywin tilted his head to the side. "And?"

Arya's fists clenched as she thought of the Greyjoy rebellion. They had crushed their armies soundly, and her father had taken on Theon as a ward to be sure it wouldn't happen again. Arya forgot sometimes, but Theon was very much a hostage in Winterfell.

"You would keep a hostage," Arya said. "To kill if my brother ever did rebel again."

A shadow of a mirthless smile crossed Tywin's face. "You are a smart girl."

Tywin did not say it, but Arya knew that he meant to take _her_ as his hostage, if negotiations went well. She would be called a ward, but she would be a captive in King's Landing. And she wasn't sure how kindly the Lannister family would treat a wolf in their halls. They hadn't treated Sansa's wolf kindly, after all. Or Sansa herself.

"I will send out a raven tonight," Tywin said. "And the young wolf and I will meet. I will bring you with me. You may be the difference between your brother choosing the right path or the wrong one. I promise you...if he rejects my offer, he and your mother will die. It won't be clean. It won't be honorable. But it will end the war, and that's all I care about right now."

"If he chooses the wrong path, you'll have to kill me too," Arya muttered. "Because if they die, I would spend the rest of my life trying to kill you."

It was a bold comment. Too bold. An icy silence hung between them but Arya did not shrink. Not this time.

"It so happens that if he refuses my offer, I will kill you, girl," Tywin said. "So I suppose I won't have anything to fear."

Arya shivered. Of course, that was why Tywin would bring her with him to negotiate: so that he could use her death as a threat against Robb and her mother.

" _If your brother had to choose between his sisters and his war, what would he choose?"_

Arya still did not know the answer to that question.

She raised her chin. "I'm not afraid to die."

"Yes, you are," Tywin said. "Everyone is afraid to die. Even if you weren't, you fear the death of your family. This is not just about you. It is about them as well. Think on that before we ride tomorrow."

Arya hated him in that moment. The way he saw through her. The certainty of his words. She always wanted to be a hero in a story, utterly unafraid to die a glorious death in battle.

Yet, those were only stories. The heroes probably cried out in terror at the moment of their demise.

And even her father had looked afraid before the end.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Next time, the negotiations begin. We'll see what Robb chooses. Review and subscribe and until next time, happy reading!**_


	4. Chapter 4: Family and Honor

_**A/N: Couldn't leave you for too long on a cliffhanger, so here is the long expected meeting between Tywin and Robb. I really like Robb's character and always thought these two would have interesting interactions so here we are. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 4: Family and Honor**

Through letters, Tywin Lannister and Robb Stark agreed on terms of meeting. They agreed on how many men they would bring. They agreed on the place. Tywin sent spies to be sure he would not be tricked by the boy. Robb was far more willing to use tricks than his father in the field of battle. Tywin respected that to a point, but he would not fall for anymore of his games.

In this case, Robb Stark kept his word. From the hill, Tywin could see the few Stark tents pitched. It seemed to be the agreed upon amount.

Tywin had brought Jaime with him, mostly because he fully expected the Stark boy to lie and claim he had his son hostage still. Beyond that, he brought the best soldiers in his guard. And the girl.

She sat on a horse between him and Jaime. Her face was vacant and calm, as if she was not worried at all about the discussion to come, but Tywin could see the pale white of her knuckles as she gripped her saddle. She was afraid. For her family and for herself.

Tywin would not enjoy having to kill the girl, if it came to that. He would do it himself, and he would make it clean and quick. But it would be a shame to lose her as his cup bearer. Hopefully, the threat of losing a daughter would compel Catelyn Stark to see his side.

In his mind, he already knew how some of this negotiation would go. They would call him dishonorable, as most Starks did. As if honor had any place at all in war. But in the end, if they were smart, they would accept his terms.

Their lives-the survival of the Stark family-depended on this night.

* * *

It was the first time Tywin had actually seen Robb Stark, face to face. He looked more like his mother than his father, with hints of Tully red in his brown hair. He had the Stark eyes though-the cold grey of the North. Tywin recognized those same eyes in Arya Stark.

His expression was fierce when Tywin entered, but he remembered his courtesies. This was a truce and there would be no blood shed in this tent. It would be a tremendous dishonor if there was, and no Stark would break such a vow.

Tywin would if it suited him. So would the Freys and the Boltons. This meeting would determine if he needed their services.

"I was surprised to receive your letter," Robb Stark said. "You know my terms. Unless you wish to accept them, there will not be peace."

He took a hard stance to begin. It was smart and would intimidate most men. But Tywin Lannister was not most men. "I've read your terms. At one point, perhaps, you had the leverage to bargain for them. Now, you do not."

"We've won many victories against your armies," Robb said. "A few losses but nothing compared to yours. Why shouldn't we keep fighting and winning?"

"I suppose it depends on how much value you put on your sisters' lives," Tywin said.

"You may have my sisters, but we have your son," Robb muttered. "So careful about making threats."

There was the lie Tywin was waiting for. He spoke with such confidence that Tywin might have believed him if he did not know better. "Really? And where is it you are keeping my son?"

"I wouldn't tell you that, Lannister" Robb said.

"That's all right. You don't have to," Tywin said. "Because you don't have my son." He glanced over his shoulder and Jaime entered the tent, removing his helm. He looked more the part of Lannister now that he had cut his hair and shaved his beard. He was no longer ragged from his time as a prisoner, and he looked more than a little bit smug as he stared down the King in the North.

"Hello again, Lord Stark."

Robb glared at him and Catelyn Stark gripped the edge of the table. "Did your son also mention that I was the one who sent him?" she asked. "Or did he break that vow?"

"Always assuming the worst about me, aren't you?" Jaime asked. "Yes, as it happens, I did tell my father that you sent me, and what you wanted in return."

"And?" Lady Stark looked to Tywin. She wanted her daughters very much. Her love of them had driven her to a tremendously stupid decision that worked very much in Tywin's favor.

"And it is only because you returned my son that I offered this meeting," Tywin said. "To discuss the future of this war and your family in Westeros."

"Don't pretend you hold the cards here, Lannister," Robb said. "We still have more victories-"

"Victories on the battlefield are not the only way to win wars," Tywin said. "I assure you, that I know how to win wars without them. You've proven a capable commander, willing to take calculated risks. I respect your efforts on the battlefield, but I will not entertain them anymore."

"If you can win the war, then why offer peace at all?" Robb asked. "I know your history, Lord Tywin. You've broken many people who defied you and your family and you did so without mercy. If you wish to make peace with me, there must be a reason."

"Of course there is," Tywin said. "Keeping a Stark in Winterfell is always preferable. If I place anyone else at that seat, it will split the North. I'll have to handle the Greyjoy rebellion on my own as well. I'll do it, but I prefer not to waste more Lannister lives on those tiresome fools. According to your own words, winter is coming, and I don't intend to fight the north in the cold."

"Then perhaps you should give us our independence," Robb said. "And you won't have to do so."

"How well do you think you'd do in independence?" Tywin said. "The north has grown dependent on resources from the south during winter over the many years belonging to the realm. Since you have been in war, you have not been able to gather as many crops before they turn. Without help from the crown your people will starve. How will independence taste to them then?"

"I don't claim it wouldn't be hard," Robb said. "But north men are hard people, used to dealing with cold. We will make do."

"Perhaps you will, and when the summer comes again, my armies will be stronger," Tywin said. "This is assuming I let you live until the summer, which I would not."

"I cannot bend the knee to the boy who murdered my father. It is out of the question," Robb said.

"Then let me give you a reason to bring it back into the question." Tywin stood, snapping his fingers at Jaime, who opened the tent flap again. Arya Stark stepped into the room.

The effect was immediate. Catelyn stood abruptly and Robb Stark's mask dropped. He had hit a nerve with both of them, and thus it revealed their weakness.

Now, it was time to see how useful a pawn Arya Stark could be.

* * *

It had been nearly a year since Arya had seen her mother and she wanted nothing more than to run to her. The moment her mother stood, she stepped forward on instinct. But Tywin grasped the scruff of her tunic and forced her to his side. His hand was like a vice and she could not hope to squirm away.

 _I will not be afraid,_ she told herself. _I will be strong._

Yet her hands shook.

"Arya." Her mother's voice cracked, and tears rose to her blue eyes. But those tears burned like fire when she looked up at Tywin. "If you have harmed her-"

"Calm yourself, Lady Stark. I haven't harmed her," Tywin said. "You can ask her yourself if you wish."

Robb clenched the edge of the table hard, looking like he wanted to overturn it. But he stayed seated. "Arya...have you been mistreated at all?"

"No," Arya replied. "I'm all right. Promise."

"There, you see?" Tywin said. "You can't say the same of some of the Lannister hostages you took. Your men killed them."

"And I punished them for it, as you might have heard," Robb said.

"I know. Which is why I did not punish the girl in kind," Tywin said. "Now, let us be clear: I hold _every_ card. I have two Stark daughters, one in King's Landing and one here. I have a larger army, now that we have allied with the Tyrells. I have more resources for when the winter comes. This is my last offer." Arya felt his grip tighten on her tunic. "If you do not accept my terms of peace I will keep Sansa Stark as a hostage. I will kill this one. And I will destroy your house."

Arya's mother looked as if she might leap across the table and claw Tywin's eyes out. "My daughters are innocent of any wrong. You will _not_ -"

"Wars are full of innocent casualties. If ending the war means less Lannister lives lost, I will gladly kill an innocent," Tywin said flatly. He was calm as ever, but inevitable as a storm. There was no bluff in his voice. He would kill Arya. Whether he "enjoyed her company" or not, he would slit her throat if her brother rejected his terms.

 _Robb_.

Arya looked up at her brother. Robb used to help her practice with the bow and arrow when Septa Mordane wasn't looking. He always complimented her needle work even when it was awful. When she was little, he used to take her for rides on his horse because she loved riding.

Now she was being used against him and she hated it. She hated Tywin Lannister for making her his pawn. She could see the pain in Robb's eyes as he mulled over the awful decision. But if he did not take it...it wouldn't just be Arya's life. He would die too. Her mother would die too. She had no doubt that Tywin Lannister had a way to destroy them.

"What are your terms," Robb finally said. "Exactly."

"You will end this rebellion and renew your pledge to Joffrey as Warden of the North," Tywin said. "You will take your soldiers and destroy the Greyjoy rebellion. If you accept the terms, I will return Sansa Stark home."

"And Arya?" Robb asked.

"I will take Arya as a ward to my house, to ensure your loyalty," Tywin said. The words fell on Arya like a death sentence of sorts. She had known all along that this was his plan, but the notion frightened her none the less. "She will be treated well enough, but if I hear any more talk of northern independence, she will suffer for it."

Her mother let out a shuddering breath. She must have known that a hostage would be part of the terms. None the less, it seemed to deflate her.

"How do I know that Joffrey will not kill me like my father if I go to King's Landing?" Robb said.

"He will not," Tywin said. "I will be present this time. My daughter could not handle him but I can. If you bend the knee, you will return to the north unharmed."

"King Aerys said the same thing of my grandfather and uncle," Robb said.

"I'm not king Aerys," Tywin said.

"No. But you're a Lannister. I don't trust you either," Robb said. He shot an icy glare at Jaime. "You lie and plot. You break oaths."

"What an awful oath to break, wasn't it," Jaime muttered. He had been largely silent during this debate, letting his father handle the negotiation. He was the eldest son, but he did not quite command Tywin's raw power. "A shame I killed such a kind man. King Aerys, the kindly king."

"You are still without honor," Robb retorted.

"Honor." Tywin laughed once. It was an utterly joyless sound. "Honor is idealistic nonsense, boy. A trick that men use to justify their actions. A trick they use to justify going to war. But the world does not operate by rules of honor. It never has. The _reason_ why the Lannisters have endured for so long is because we recognize that. I suggest you do the same."

Robb's jaw tightened. He looked from their mother to Arya to Tywin. She could see his honor and his devotion to family tearing at the corners of his mind, threatening to pull him apart.

"Robb," Arya murmured to get his attention. Robb looked down at her. "Father died for honor too. You need to live. The north needs you."

Robb closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his closed fists. Tywin did not say a word. He did not need to. He truly had all of the cards in his hand, ready to play no matter the response.

"I..." Robb exhaled. "I would like to request some time to think on your proposal."

"You have until dawn," Tywin said. "No longer."

"May I speak with my sister alone?" Robb asked.

"No," Tywin said. "You may speak with her after you have given me your answer. For now, I'll keep her with me."

Arya's mother gritted her teeth together. "You truly are a monstrous sort of man, Lord Tywin."

Tywin looked back to her, unmoved. "Yes. That is why I'm still alive." He steered Arya toward the tent exit. "I'll return at dawn."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Sorry for the second cliffhanger, but I hope that sated everyone for now. I quite enjoyed writing that chapter. Make sure to review to tell me what you think, and thank you for all of your reviews so far! Until next time, happy reading!**_


	5. Chapter 5: The Lion's Jaws

_**A/N: And we are back. Happy Monday everyone. So far I am staying on schedule with these updates.**_

 **Chapter 5: The Lion's Jaws**

Catelyn Stark had always known Tywin Lannister to be a cruel man, but to dangle her daughter in front of her, only to tear her away...it made her furious beyond belief. It was agony to watch Arya from across the table. Her little girl, trapped in a Lannister's grip. How frightened she must be.

Tywin Lannister would kill her without hesitation if it suited him. Which was why Catelyn could not believe Robb was even considering such an option.

"We cannot leave Sansa and Arya to his mercy," Catelyn said. "He will kill Arya and there is nothing we can do."

"Aye. And whose fault is that?" Robb snapped. "If we had Jaime Lannister still, it would all be a bluff. But we don't. I have nothing to use against him. I don't even have those Lannister boys. Not that he would trade for them."

"I was thinking of the girls," Catelyn murmured.

"You were thinking too hard of them. We could have gotten them back if we just kept winning," Robb said. "At best, we will get Sansa back. But no matter what we choose _Arya_ suffers. She either dies or she becomes a damned hostage."

"I know that, Robb," Catelyn said. "I heard his terms. You don't think I know what I've done?" She shook her head. "I was desperate. Bran and Rickon held hostage by Theon and Sansa and Arya with the Lannisters. I needed to try."

"It didn't do much good, did it?" Robb asked.

"It did something," Catelyn said. "Tywin Lannister offered us peace. He would not have done so if I hadn't given him Jaime. And if he spoke truly, he had some dark plot to kill you and break the northern army. I don't doubt him. He is not a man to bluff."

"So you think I should be grateful that he offered peace?" Robb asked.

"Yes. It is something he rarely does," Catelyn said. "It's only your name that bought you this talk. He recognizes that it is easier to keep a Stark in Winterfell, especially with winter on its way."

"Aye. And keep a Stark in his halls to kill if we step out of line," Robb said. "What happens if this is a trap?"

"Perhaps it is," Catelyn said. "Perhaps it's not. Are you willing to risk your sister's life for it?"

Robb looked down at his feet. "The men of the north put their faith in me. Their trust in me."

"And if they are truly loyal, they will follow you in retreat," Catelyn said. "Tell them that you must crush the Greyjoys and save Bran and Rickon. Tell them it's is more important to protect home. Tell them that rebellion is unwise when winter is coming and crops must be gathered." She placed a hand on his cheek. "Look to the future. Your father is dead. I do not want to see any of my children join him."

Robb looked down at her with the eyes of a boy who had recently realized that his mother was not perfect, nor always right. He had lost his faith and her and she knew she would not get that back. He truly had grown up. It was a painful thing for Catelyn to see, yet she was so proud of how far he had come.

"You promised me that we would kill them all one day," he said at last.

"One day, we will," Catelyn vowed. "But there is wisdom in patience, Robb. And revenge will never be worth more than family. You know your father would say the same."

"Father is not here...because of Joffrey," Robb said. "What would he say if I bent the knee to him?"

"What would he say if you allowed your sister to die?" Catelyn asked.

Robb fell silent. To that, he did not seem to have an answer.

* * *

The camp was quiet that night, and tense beyond belief. Only Jaime's father seemed calm as he sat at his desk, writing letters. It seemed Tywin often wrote letters these days, often with the purpose of starting and ending wars. He had such a reach over the kingdom that a single raven from him could alter the course of the country.

Jaime could never imagine having that sort of power. His father wanted him to become 'the man he was born to be'. But if that meant becoming like Tywin, he wasn't sure he could manage it. His father had ten times his ambition and ten times his ruthlessness. Jaime had no desire for power or Casterly Rock. But even though he had donned a white cloak, his father still considered him his heir.

"You're calm tonight," Jaime said. "You don't seem worried about their decision."

"It doesn't matter either way," Tywin said. "I will be able to end this war whether they accept my terms or not. One road is slightly cleaner, but I have a plan for both scenarios."

"Naturally," Jaime said. "But I'm sure you have a preference."

Tywin looked up at him. "Why would I have a preference?"

His father's expression was stony and unreadable-to everyone except perhaps his children. Jaime had studied his father for a long time, and he knew the nearly imperceptible difference in his moods.

Jaime shrugged. "Why take Arya as a ward rather than Sansa?"

"What do you mean?" Tywin asked.

"If Robb Stark accepts peace. Why take Arya as a ward? Sansa would technically be more valuable. She's the eldest Stark daughter. And she's already in King's Landing. From what I've seen, she seems much more docile than her younger sister. So why not keep her?"

"I offered Sansa back to the Starks because she is more valuable. It makes them more likely to accept the offer," Tywin said.

"So you _do_ have a preference," Jaime said.

Tywin set down his pen, leaning back in his chair. "What is the purpose of these questions, Jaime?"

"Maybe I'm just trying to figure out how your mind works. You've always encouraged me to follow in your footsteps," Jaime said.

"Don't play games with me," Tywin said. "Say what you mean or leave me be."

Jaime held his gaze. "You like that girl. Arya Stark. You don't want to kill her."

He expected his father to deny it. But then, Tywin was always a brutally honest sort of person, even with himself. "No. I don't want to kill her," he said. "But I will. I will do what needs to be done, whatever the Stark's decide. What I think of the girl doesn't matter."

Jaime exhaled. His father really never let weakness show. He wondered if Lord Tywin Lannister still experienced emotion like everyone else or if his heart had turned into an empty husk from years without use.

"If you truly want to know how my mind works, then know this," Tywin said. "It's never personal feelings or glory or goals that matter. It's about the family. It's about the Lannister name. If you want to truly serve the family, you must be willing to put aside every one of your selfish emotions."

Jaime shook his head, a mirthless smile on his face. "That's a nice idea father. You should tell that to Tyrion."

Tywin's gaze hardened, and in an instant, Jaime knew he had over stepped. "Get out. Now."

Jaime did not protest. He wanted to escape the conversation anyway.

It was true; his father wanted nothing more than to serve the family. Personal emotions didn't matter, he said. Personal wishes and grudges should be cast away. But those words didn't seem to matter when it came to his blind hatred of Tyrion. Tyrion would always be the breaking point for Lord Tywin Lannister's rationality.

At least, Tywin had a breaking point. That meant he was as human as everyone else.

* * *

Arya felt smaller than usual sitting on the floor of her small tent. It was late, but she knew she would not sleep. She would spend the whole night waiting for the dawn...waiting for her brother's decision.

She wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to die. How much would it hurt and where would she go afterwards? Would the god of death be a man, or a shadow?

 _There is only one thing we say to the god of death. Not today._

"Not today," she muttered, tucking her knees into her chest. "Not today."

The tent flap brushed back and she tensed, wondering if Tywin had come for her again. Perhaps, Robb had made his decision. Perhaps this was her last night.

Instead, Jaime Lannister entered the tent.

She started to rise but he held out a hand. "Don't get up."

Arya swallowed hard, looking away. "Does your father need something, ser?"

"No," Jaime said.

Arya looked up at him suspiciously. "Do you?"

"Not particularly," Jaime said. "But I find myself unable to sleep tonight. I guessed you might be awake as well."

"Of _course_ I'm awake," Arya said indignantly. "Why would I sleep if I could die tomorrow?"

"Hence my guess," Jaime said. "You shouldn't worry too much, my lady. I doubt your brother will sacrifice you for his war. He seems like a good lad."

"Robb is worth ten of any of you," Arya said firmly. Fear of death made her bolder. Why should she fear speaking her mind when her throat could be cut tomorrow?

"Depends on what you count as worth. But yes, probably," Jaime tilted his head to the side. "Do you speak so bluntly with my father?"

"Yes. When I'm feeling brave," Arya said.

Jaime laughed once, sitting down on the stool in front of her. "I would call that brave or stupid. Most people wouldn't dare say a single word against him. It's a wonder he likes you so much."

Arya's brow furrowed. "He doesn't like me. I'm his hostage."

"His hostage whom he keeps as a cup bearer," Jaime said. "If he didn't like you, he would have sent you off to King's Landing long ago. My father doesn't keep company with people he doesn't like."

Arya did not reply.

"I know it's hard to tell," Jaime said. "I'm not sure he remembers how to smile. And laughing...that's even rarer. It always sounds so forced." He leaned forward. "But I'm his son, so I can tell. He only lets you get away with that mouth of yours because he likes you."

"I don't like _him_ ," Arya muttered.

"Of course you don't," Jaime said. "Most people don't _like_ my father. Half the time his children don't even like him. But it will be in your favor if you're to become a Lannister ward."

A Lannister ward. The very words made Arya shiver. She only wanted to go home-back to Winterfell. Instead she would return to King's Landing, to the place where her father lost his head.

"At least, Sansa will get to leave," Arya murmured. "She must hate it there. I always felt awful...for leaving her behind."

"Your sister seems to be a more delicate person than you," Jaime said. "And King's Landing is not gentle with delicate people. You'll fair better than her, I'm sure."

"Will I? I'm a Stark," Arya murmured. Starks, historically, did not do well in King's Landing. Her grandfather, uncle, father...they had all died there. She always looked the most like her father of all of his children. She wouldn't last there.

"Yes, but you're smart," Jaime said. "My father would not have taken you as a cup bearer if you weren't. I'm sure you'll find away."

Arya rested her chin on her knees. "Why did you come here, ser? To try to make me feel better?"

"No," Jaime said. "Curiosity I suppose. I barely noticed you when I last went to Winterfell. But if you return to King's Landing, we are going to be seeing a lot more of each other."

Arya nodded once. It was interesting...she used to quite look up to Jaime Lannister when she first read about him. She looked up to all the great knights of Westeros. Barristan Selmy, the Sword of the Morning. Jaime Lannister was supposed to be nearly as skilled as them. But her father had nothing but contempt for the Kingslayer. He said he was a man without honor for killing King Aerys. Her father was usually right about people.

Whether he was without honor or not, he did not seem cruel. At least, not in this moment.

The tent flap opened again and a messenger slipped his head inside. "Ser Jaime. Your father sent me to bring the girl."

"For what?" Jaime asked.

"Robb Stark has made his decision."

Arya swallowed hard. It was not yet dawn, but it was time to face her fate all the same.

* * *

 _ **A/N: You've all probably realized this by now...but I write with lots cliffhangers. Good thing my update schedule is consistent, right? Review if you enjoyed and I'll see you next time :)**_


	6. Chapter 6: The Decision

_**A/N: And I'm back! Sorry about that cliffhanger. This chapter actually does NOT end in a cliffhanger, so congrats on making it this far. Without further ado, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 6: The Decision**

Arya hardly dared to breathe as she met Tywin at the top of the hill. Only meters away sat the tent where her fate would be decided. In less than an hour, she would either be dead, or given away as a hostage to the Lannister families. There were no good options for her. She knew it. Tywin knew it.

He studied her as she came to a stop in front of him as if searching for her fear. She raised her chin and clenched her jaw in what she hoped looked like defiance. The corners of his mouth barely twitched. It was the closest he ever got to a smile.

"Come on, girl. Let's hear your brother's choice."

* * *

The tension in the tent was almost suffocating. Arya's mother and brother stood on one side of the table, tense and stern. Tywin stood on the other, his grip tight on the back of her collar. In the initial silence, Arya could not read Robb's decision. She did not know what he had chosen. She could almost hear her heart slamming against her chest, trying to escape.

 _What do we say to the God of Death?_

 _Not today. Not today._

Robb exhaled at last and looked up at the Head of House Lannister. "I accept your terms...Lord Tywin. All of them."

Arya let out a shuddering breath. All at once, her future became clear. Perhaps not a good future, but it was better than a knife and the shadow of death. Tywin's grip loosened just slightly on her collar. It seemed even he had relaxed just a bit at the words.

"You're a smart man, Robb Stark. It will serve you well as Warden of the North."

"We'll discuss the terms again," Robb muttered. His anger was clear, but also his defeat. "First...let me speak with my sister alone."

For a moment, Tywin did not answer. Then he released Arya. "Very well. I will be outside."

There was a warning in his voice. A warning not to try any tricks. Robb seemed to hear it and he nodded. Then Tywin left the tent.

Arya released a breath and ran for her mother. She caught her up in her arms, hold tightly. "Oh Arya," she murmured. "Sweet girl. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Arya fought tears as she clung onto her mother. It had been far too long. "No, I'm sorry. He used me against you. If I hadn't gotten caught..."

"Don't apologize for that, Arya." Catelyn pulled back, brushing her hair from her face. "It wasn't your fault."

"No it wasn't," Robb agreed. "I blame Lord Tywin for this. Not you."

"It was though," Arya said. "I escaped the Red Keep, mother. I was disguised as a boy and was well away from them when my group was caught and sent to Harrenhal."

"You had escaped?" Catelyn looked to Robb. "That must be why we never heard anything about her from the keep."

"How did Lord Tywin discover you?" Robb asked.

"Lord Tywin took me as a cup bearer," Arya said. "He didn't know who I was. Just that I was a girl disguised as a boy. I think he could tell I was high born but...but he didn't know." She swallowed hard. "Until Lord Baelish arrived. He told Tywin who I was."

Her mother's face twisted with rage. "Damn him to all the seven hells. He claimed to be on our side and he lied."

"Lord Baelish is on the side of the highest bidder. Nothing more," Robb said. "We can blame him for your discovery Arya. Truly. It wasn't your fault."

Arya looked up at Robb. "You're not angry with me then?"

Robb shook his head. "No. Gods no, Arya."

Arya rushed to hug him and he caught her up in his arms, holding her close. She had missed her older brothers-Robb and Jon both. The only thing that she liked about being small was that they could easily pick her up. She used to love feeling weightless.

"I'm sorry we can't take you home with us," Robb murmured. "Your place is at Winterfell. I'm sorry."

"I'm alive. Don't apologize," Arya said. "I'll be all right. I can be smart and quick."

"You already are." Robb sat her down on her feet. "But I hate to leave you in Tywin Lannister's hands."

"I can survive him. I've survived him for two months now," Arya said. "It's Joffrey I'm worried about."

"If that boy harms you, I will raise my armies again the next day," Robb said. "I promise that."

"Don't," Arya said. "Don't let anyone else in our family get killed. Not for me. Besides, you need to save Bran and Rickon first. I'll be all right."

"Oh, Arya," her mother murmured. The heart break in her voice weighed heavy on Arya's shoulders. "You've always been so fearless. You left the worrying to everyone else."

Arya forced a smile. She did not say how afraid she truly was. She did not want to worry her mother anymore.

"This is not goodbye," Robb said. "You'll return to Winterfell someday. I swear it."

Arya nodded once. "Yes. I'll see you again."

It was a promise that neither of them could keep. Robb would not have the authority to bring Arya home and she would not have the authority to leave.

Her fate was entirely in the hands of Tywin Lannister now.

* * *

Tywin Lannister and Robb Stark discussed the terms again. It was a short meeting, because Robb knew he had little room for debate. The only real question was the timeline of the terms.

Robb Stark swore loyalty to the crown in that tent, but it would be some time before he made it to King's Landing to bend the knee. First, he would secure the north by crushing the Greyjoy rebellion. Once the Greyjoys were brought to heel, Tywin could install someone there without a tendency for stupid uprisings. He would kill all the Greyjoys. They had already had one chance for peace and they had ignored it.

Once the final rebellion was crushed, the war of five kings would be at its end. Stannis on the run and Renly and Balon in the grave. Robb Stark would then ride to King's Landing to bend the knee to Joffrey, officially.

Meanwhile, the Lannister armies would return home, Tywin would take Arya Stark with him and send Sansa Stark back to the North. Robb would send trusted men to King's Landing to escort her.

It had all worked out rather well, which was a welcome change from the past few months, and it cemented Tywin's legacy. He had ended many wars and rebellions in his lifetime. He crushed the Reynes and the Greyjoys. He helped Robert's Rebellion to success and gave him that bloody iron throne. And now he ended the War of Five Kings. History would remember the Lannister name as one of strength.

The lords of the present would not feel the same. The Starks, the Greyjoys, the remaining rebel Baratheons...they would all hate him and curse his name. He was used to such things. What truly mattered was the bigger picture. Even if every soul on earth hated him-including his family and his children-it was the future that mattered.

Arya Stark hated him too. He supposed she always had. He could see rebellion in her eyes when she stepped from her brother's tent. She looked up at him with a challenge.

 _I'm your ward now...and you will have to deal with me,_ she seemed to say. _I am still a wolf._

She was a wolf. In some ways, Jaime was right. Sansa would be an easier girl to handle as a ward. She would do as asked with little resistance. But a ward was associated with the family name, and Tywin had no interest in a docile girl.

If he was going to take a ward, he preferred one with a bite.

* * *

Arya had travelled this road before. The King's Road had been her first major journey from Winterfell. It had also been the first place where she saw the cruelty of House Lannister. Joffrey and Cersei had proved themselves monstrous that day, and Lady and Micha suffered for it. That was the beginning of the end. They should have turned and left for home at once after that night.

But they didn't. And her father was dead because of it.

As they drew nearer to King's Landing, they naturally passed through the same villages, including the site of that awful incident. Arya still remembered meeting Micha outside of the butcher shop and asking him to spar with her. It felt like an innocent request, and they had a grand time fighting by the river. But then Joffrey...and the Hound...

Arya's jaw clenched as she caught sight of the butcher shop. It was because of her that a man lost his son.

"You look as if you're plotting to kill, Lady Arya," Tywin observed.

Arya sighed. Was there ever a moment when he _didn't_ notice a shift in her expressions? Perhaps she was too easy to read.

"I'm not plotting to kill. Just thinking about it," she said, urging her horse forward. She did not want to look upon the village anymore.

"Explain how plotting and thinking are different."

"Plotting involves a plan. Thinking is...less solid."

"Insightful of you," Tywin said dryly. "And what has you _thinking_ of killing?"

Arya stared down at the reins, grasped tight in her hands. Though she was a captive, her wrists were not bound. She could almost imagine she was free. "Did you ever hear the story of what happened between Joffrey and me on the King's Road?"

"I heard the story from Cersei, yes. She was furious about it," Tywin said.

"You heard the _wrong_ version then," Arya said. "Cersei is a liar. It didn't happen at all how she said it."

"You don't even know what she told me."

"I know it was a lie."

"I suppose you better give me your version then," Tywin said. "Or else I'll have to accept hers as fact."

He was baiting her. It was hard to tell sometimes with the Head of Lannister house because his very grim expressions. But Arya was beginning to learn the slight differences in the cadence of his voice. She had been near him for nearly three months now, after all.

"I was sparring with a boy named Micah," Arya said. "My brother Jon had just given me a sword, and I wanted to get good enough so that I could use it. No one from our group would ever practice with me, so I found him. While we were practicing, Sansa and Joffrey walked by. Joffrey wanted to fight Micah next." Her grip tightened on the reins. "Only he had a real sword. Micah didn't want to fight him. Of course he didn't. Joffrey was a prince with a real blade, and he only had a stick. Joffrey started cutting open his cheek. So I hit him with my stick as hard as I could."

"You were less worried about fighting a prince it seems," Tywin observed.

"It wasn't a smart decision. I didn't have a real sword either," Arya admitted. "He nearly killed me. I only avoided his blade because I was quick. But when I got in trouble, Nymeria came to help me."

"Your wolf?"

"Yes. She bit his wrist until he dropped his sword. Then I threw it in the river and we ran." Arya shook her head. "I didn't make it far. Lannister soldiers found me quickly. But Nymeria escaped at least. Maybe she's still alive somewhere. I don't know."

"Hmm," Tywin said. "Cersei insisted that you maliciously set your wolf on Joffrey."

"She's a _liar_. Nymeria was only defending me," Arya said. "Joffrey and Cersei both lied to everyone. Worse than that, they brought Sansa out and made her lie too. She was there the whole time but she pretended she didn't see what happened. She saw. I know she did."

"So Joffrey told one story, you told another, and your sister refused to confirm either," Tywin said. "And which opinion did the king listen to?"

"He wanted to leave the whole incident behind," Arya recalled. "But Cersei...Cersei wanted some sort of punishment for my wolf. Only my wolf was gone. So instead..." Arya swallowed. "They killed Sansa's wolf for no good reason. Lady wasn't even there. She'd never hurt anything in her whole life, but Cersei wanted her dead." Arya felt a fresh wave of hatred rising up inside of her. "And Micah...they killed Micah too. He hadn't fought Joffrey at all."

"Cersei wanted something or someone to blame," Tywin said. "And she couldn't very well kill you, so the wolf and the boy would have to do."

"It wasn't fair," Arya said.

"Of course not. And when is the last time you experienced the world as fair?" Tywin asked.

Arya fell silent. He was right of course. The world was cruel and often did not make sense. If fairness and justice reigned, her father would be alive and the Lannisters in the dirt.

"I'm more inclined to believe your story. Cersei told a fantastic lie in her letter," Tywin said. "She's been telling fantastic lies since she was a child. Whenever she did something wrong, she always had someone else to blame for it. A maid, a stable boy, her brothers. She always came prepared with a story. She could get away with it with the septas and the guards and most of her family. But not with me."

Arya studied him. "But she kept lying to you? Even if it didn't work?"

"No she did everything possible to make sure the issue never came to my attention," Tywin said. "I was hand of the king at the time. I was trying to run a country. It was easy enough for her to convince others that I did not need to become involved. Every successful lie she told, the more overconfident she grew." He shrugged. "Now, she's a transparent liar, but she's powerful enough that no one can question it."

"You can," Arya pointed out.

"I do. When she attempts to lie to me," Tywin said. "Her dishonesty with others does not worry me."

"Why not? A lie is a lie," Arya said.

"Yes. And a lie can sometimes protect the family or serve the family's interests," Tywin said. "I'm sure your father told a lie or kept a secret for the good of his family."

Arya shook her head. "No. Never."

"A rare man then. Most men are not so honest." Tywin looked down at her. "But remember, girl, that honesty of his is one of the traits that cost him his life. Don't make the same mistakes as him."

Arya's jaw clenched and she looked away. Yes, her father was honest in a world of liars. Arya was not as good of a person as him though. She had lied plenty of times and disobeyed and cheated.

Maybe the worst parts of herself would help her survive in King's Landing.

* * *

 _ **A/N: And so Arya makes the journey to King's Landing where the REAL story begins. Hope you guys are ready for a long fic because I've plotted this out and...and it is long. I am in capable of short things. Review and subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	7. Chapter 7: The Lion's Den

_**A/N: With that several chapter prologue out of the way we begin...THE REAL STORY. Yay. I am incapable of writing anything short. But I guess that fits with the Game of Thrones style, since it is long as hell. Anyway, enjoy the next chapter!**_

 **Chapter 7: The Lion's Den**

They arrived in King's Landing through the God's Gate a few days later. Arya had last passed beneath that gate a year ago, back when she still believed in the immortality of people she loved. How different she had been then. How naïve. Now, the air made her sick with the awful memories of the past, and she felt bile in the back of her throat when she saw the sept of Baelor in the distance.

 _Ser Illyn. Bring me his head._

Approaching the Red Keep, she could almost smell the blood. All of the Stark household had been killed here. Septa Mordane, who always chided Arya for her needle work. The guards who used to escort her places. All of her father's most trusted soldiers. Syrio, her dancing master. Everyone associated with the name Stark had been slayed in the castle.

Except for Arya.

And Sansa.

When they stopped at the stables, Arya saw a familiar face flanked by Lannister guards. She was preparing for the long journey home and every bit of her face looked relieved. It had been so long since Arya had seen her sister that she almost stopped breathing.

Sansa looked up at saw her. "Arya..." she murmured.

No one could stop Arya from vaulting off of her horse and rushing toward her sister. She hugged her as tightly as she could. The last time they saw each other they had been fighting about something stupid. Arya would have deeply regretted it if they had never seen each other again.

Sansa wrapped her arms around her, holding her close. "Oh, Arya. It's good to see you. I thought you might be dead."

"I'm not," Arya pulled back at her. "I'm all right. Between the two of us, you were in more danger."

Sansa gave her a small smile. Her smiles were sadder now, with none of their old optimistic brightness. In fact Sansa's skin looked much paler, and her body more deflated. She used to shine in the capitol. Time and tragedy had sapped her strength.

"It's all right. You get to go home now," Arya murmured. "I've seen mother. She misses you. She'll be so glad to be with you again."

"I wish I could take you with me," Sansa murmured. "I wish we could both go home."

Arya's chest ached. Yes, she wished that too. It would be nice to have all of the family together again. "I'll be all right."

"You will." Sansa pulled her into another hug. But this time she whispered in her ear. "Be careful Arya. Joffrey is worse than he ever was. I know you're fierce, but you must be careful and play their game. Otherwise, you'll suffer."

Arya swallowed hard. She could hardly imagine Joffrey worse, but she believed Sansa. "Play their game?"

"Keep your head down. Don't act rashly. Be a shadow." Sansa pulled back. "Promise me."

"I promise," Arya murmured.

"Good." Sansa squeezed her shoulders.

"Lady Sansa," one of the guards stepped up beside her. It took Arya a moment to see that it was not a man but a _giant_ of a woman. Her eyes widened. "We're ready to leave."

"Of course," Sansa murmured. "Oh...Lady Brienne, this is my sister, Arya."

"I'm not a lady," Brienne murmured. She gave Arya a bow. "I'm pleased to meet you Lady Arya."

"Mother sent her ahead to help guide me north," Sansa said. "She doesn't trust the Lannister guards."

"She shouldn't," Arya looked up at Brienne. "I've...I've never seen a lady knight. I've only read about them."

Brienne seemed taken aback by the admiration in her voice. "Do you like reading about knights, lady Arya?"

"Arya's always talking about knights. She would be one if she had the chance," Sansa said.

"Perhaps, one day you'll have that chance," Brienne smiled a bit. "I apologize that we cannot take you with us, lady Arya."

Arya swallowed hard. Yes, she would like very much to go with them. "Protect Sansa. I'll be fine here."

Sansa gave her a sad smile. "Goodbye. We'll see each other again." Then she turned away from Arya, stepping into the cart. Arya watched her sister leave, fighting the urge to jump in the back with her. She would not get far. She was a prisoner of this place now.

She could only hope to follow in her sister's footsteps one day, and make the long journey home.

* * *

"It's ridiculous," Cersei said. "It's completely ridiculous."

"So you've said," Tywin said without looking up from his letters. "Three times now."

"Making peace with Robb Stark is borderline madness," Cersei said. "He took up arms against the throne-against _your_ grandson-and you offered him a deal? You should have destroyed every single one of the Starks, like you did the Reynes, starting with that insufferable girl."

Tywin exhaled. Cersei had been raving about this for what seemed like hours now. Recent events had made her more wild and paranoid than ever. He set down his quill. "The North would have stopped their rebellion long ago if you had managed to control your son. You made everything much more difficult when you stood by and let Ned Stark die."

"I didn't expect him too-"

"No. You didn't. But you should have," Tywin said. "You love your children, but you are blind to their faults. You should have seen Joffrey's untamed cruelty a long time ago and learned how to manage it when he was still young. Now, it's too late. He will no longer listen to you. The blame for that rests on your shoulders."

Cersei fell into a sullen silence, just like she always did when she did not have a retort. The years had hardened her, but some things had stayed the same.

"Would you like me to explain why I made peace with the North?" Tywin asked. "Or would you like to continue to make wild accusations?"

Cersei glared at him. "Explain then."

"The Starks are not the Reynes," Tywin said. "The Reynes owed loyalty to house Lannister, but they were not necessary for the survival of the Westerlands. Furthermore, your grandfather had let the Lannister name sit so long in the mud that an extreme response was required to change the views of the other houses. I crushed them soundly because I did not need them and they made an example to the rest of the world. The point is not to destroy every enemy because every enemy is not the same. Sometimes we go to war. Sometimes we make peace. Sometimes we form marriage alliances or take hostages."

"And you made peace with the Starks," Cersei said. "Why is that necessary?"

"You really shouldn't need to ask me that question," Tywin said. "They're one of the oldest families in Westeros for a reason. There has always been a Stark in Winterfell and changing that would destabilize the north. I preferred not to throw one realm into chaos with winter on the way. Furthermore, Robb Stark didn't rise in rebellion because he did not respect the Lannister name or the throne. He rose in rebellion to defend his father. Enemy or not, he would have been weak and disloyal if he did not come to Eddard Stark's defense."

"Do you respect him now?" Cersei sneered.

"A boy of seventeen with a great many victories under his belt? Yes," Tywin said. "He's smart and willing to make sacrifices. He will make a strong leader in the north. We need strong leadership."

Cersei looked away, the look of a sullen child crossing her face. "You told me once...that everyone who isn't us is an enemy."

"I told you that everyone who isn't us _could become_ an enemy. There is a difference," Tywin said. "And it is possible to respect one's enemies. Make peace with them. Keep them close. If you look down on every one of your enemies, you begin to underestimate them and they have the opportunity to rise up and destroy you. That's what happened to the Targaryens." He picked up his quill to write. "I do not intend to follow them."

"Our enemies can't harm us if they are all dead," Cersei said quietly.

"That's a child's way to deal with a problem. You can't kill everyone in the world. Then the world would not turn properly anymore." Tywin went back to writing. " _You_ will make peace with Arya Stark."

Cersei's shoulders rose like the hackles of an enraged lioness. "I will _not_ -"

"You will," Tywin said. "A child's squabble between her and Joffrey is not a reason for you to bare a grudge. And if Joffrey senses your hatred, he may see that as an excuse to kill her just as he killed Ned Stark. I need her alive and unharmed so _you_ will do your part to see that happens."

"She's as wild as an actual wolf. You should have sent her back to the north and kept Sansa here," Cersei said.

"But I didn't, and my decision is not negotiable," Tywin looked up at her again. "Make peace with the girl. Make sure Joffrey understands her value. Then you are both free to ignore her completely."

Cersei gritted her teeth together and stood. "As you say, father." Then she swept from the room.

 _She's going to cause trouble,_ Tywin thought as soon as she left. He set his quill down again, rubbing a hand over his face. If anyone was wild now, it was his daughter. She barely made an attempt to conceal her true feelings anymore.

He was more concerned about controlling her than Arya Stark.

* * *

Arya's room was smaller than most in King's Landing, but larger than her chambers at Winterfell. King's Landing had far more room to spare, it seemed, even for hostages.

Arya hated the room. She hated the smell of this place. It was all perfumes just barely covering the stench of death and deceit. She hated the silk of the sheets too. Silk was such a useless sort of fabric. There was no security in it. In the North, nothing was made of silk. Sansa used to lament that fact, but Arya loved it. She always preferred leather and fur and wool.

She wondered if they would dress her in King's Landing garb as well. She would not like that at all.

Arya paced around her room, looking for something she could use as a weapon. A knife perhaps. She did not know what she would _do_ with a weapon, but it would be good to have just in case. She could not find anything sharp, however. Only a hairbrush on the dresser, and she wasn't sure it was heavy enough to beat someone with.

Arya's shoulders sagged and she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. She was annoyed that she did not look stronger. More fearless. She wanted to be a wolf, but she could see the fear in her own eyes.

It would not do to be afraid. She had to be strong in this place to survive. She straightened her back and raised her chin, looking defiantly at her own reflection.

The door creaked open behind her and she saw a flash of blonde hair. Arya spun around as the Queen Regent herself entered the room. Her grip tightened on the hair brush. It was the only thing she had.

 _Play their game,_ Sansa's words flashed through her head. _Otherwise you'll suffer._

"Your Grace," Arya forced the words from her lips. They tasted bitter. "I was not expecting you."

"Clearly," Cersei said. "Courtesies don't sit right on your lips, do they Lady Arya?"

"No, your grace. Septa Mordane always said the same," Arya replied. "What brings you here?"

Cersei smiled. It was perhaps the least convincing expression Arya had ever seen. "Perhaps I wanted to welcome you back to King's Landing, and make sure you were comfortable."

Arya could not keep the incredulous look off her face.

"No. You know better than that, don't you?" Cersei asked. The gleam in her green eyes made her smile sharp as a razor. "My father insists that you are important to keep the peace. I can understand that perhaps. But that does not mean I have to pretend to like you."

Arya raised her chin. "Of course not. Then why are you here?"

"To give you a warning," Cersei said. "I know you're wild and I know that you must be plotting something in that head of yours. Your father died here. Perhaps you want revenge for that. But if you come anywhere near my children, I will have your throat cut."

She was short and to the point. Arya almost preferred her this way. Better an open threat than false flattery.

"Do you really think I want anything to do with Joffrey?" Arya asked. "I'll stay clear of him if I can. I'll stay clear of Tommen as well if it please your grace." She spoke her courtesies with the sweetest lilt she could manage. Sansa always made that sort of thing sound so much more convincing.

"It would please me," Cersei said. "I would do anything to protect my family, Lady Arya. Even the most distasteful acts. Your father tested me once. I don't recommend you make the same mistakes."

"I won't," Arya said. "I plan to learn from my father's mistakes, your grace."

 _Because if I move against you, I will be smarter,_ she thought. _I would do anything for my family as well._

"Good," Cersei said flatly. "Then we are at an understanding." She swept back toward the door. "You may tell my father that we made peace. Then I won't hear any more about it from him."

 _He won't believe it if I do,_ Arya thought, but she did not speak those thoughts. "Very well." She tilted her head to the side. "Your grace?"

Cersei stopped and looked back at her. "Yes, Lady Arya?"

"If you don't pretend to like me...Does that mean I don't have to pretend to like you?" Arya asked. There was ice beneath the sweetness of her tone. Ice and steel. And Cersei clearly heard it. Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled back in disgust. Then she left, slamming the door behind her.

 _Is that a yes or a no?_ Arya thought.

Arya released the hair brush, still clutched in her left hand. It had left marks on her palm from how hard she gripped it. There were many threats to Arya in this place, but Cersei was at the top of the list of dangers.

Just as well. She was also at the top of Arya's list of names.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading! Arya is going to have lots of encounters with all of the Lannisters over the course of the story, so I hope that's what you're here for. Make sure to review, subscribe and all of that. See you next time!**_


	8. Chapter 8: Expectations

_**A/N: Happy Thursday! For those of you who missed Tywin in the last chapter, he's in this one! Yay. Also Tyrion and Jaime make an appearance as well. It had a lot of fun conversations to write so I hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 8: Expectations**

Tywin Lannister had taken his place as the hand of the king. And so Tyrion fell from his rare chance at power. He always knew that his reign was temporary. His father had given him the position and his father now took it away. Tyrion felt the ache of the loss like the throb of the still healing wound across his face.

Shae wanted them to leave. She was a smart woman, and recognized that there was little left for Tyrion in this place. Yet he couldn't leave. He clung to this damn city even after it had rejected him because maybe, just maybe, he would find a taste of power again.

 _Pathetic,_ Tyrion thought. _I really am pathetic._

Still, he found himself, in his pathetic state, walking toward the tower of the hand to speak with his father. He needed something to do. He needed to make his case that he could still be useful to the Lannister family. He had done his part to protect the city, so where was his reward for that?

As he approached the tower, he heard a rather loud conversation inside. At first he thought it must be Cersei snapping at their father again. But no, the voice was too young for that.

"She's going to murder me in my sleep. Even if I _don't_ go near Joffrey, she is going to murder me in my sleep. Then she'll find a way to blame me for it."

"Really? And Cersei told me that she made peace with you."

"Of course she did. She wanted me to tell you the same."

"But you're not."

" _You_ told me not to lie to you."

"It's good to know you're listening."

Tyrion peered through the crack in the door. His father sat at his old desk, but in front of him paced a girl with dark brown hair and the pale skin of the north. Arya Stark. It must be. He had heard of her arrival in the city because Cersei had raved to him about it as well. She was a ward of Lannister now. A hostage. Yet for being a hostage, she did not seem to measure her words around his father. She did not seem afraid of him at all.

"I only mention it because I don't want you to think everything is solved," Arya said. "And if I do die, you'll know who to blame."

"I never thought everything was solved. Nothing I say could keep Cersei from hating you. I only want her to be a little quieter about it." Tywin set down his quill. "You're not very good at hiding your feelings either, Lady Arya."

"Can you blame me, my lord?"

"It does not matter if I blame you or not. It's true."

Tyrion thought as if he had stepped into a dream. Tywin did not usually entertain this kind of talk from _anyone_. From his family, sometimes, depending on his mood. But not usually. He seemed almost...amused. A few times Tyrion thought he saw the shadow of a smile on his lips. It was a humorless, biting smile, but still. A rare thing for Tywin Lannister. Tyrion almost never saw such an expression.

Tyrion accidentally opened the door a bit more and it creaked. Arya Stark spun around, like a wolf searching for a threat. Tyrion sighed and opened the door the rest of the way.

"Forgive me if I'm interrupting."

"You're not," Tywin said. His expression became cold again at Tyrion's arrival. "Tyrion, this is Arya Stark."

"The new Lannister ward. Yes, I have heard." Tyrion approached her, holding out his hand. "My lady. We did not speak when I last visited Winterfell."

"Because I'm small and no one notices me," Arya said accepted his hand.

"Well, I can sympathize with that. I'm smaller than you as you can see," Tyrion said.

"It's refreshing," Arya said. "Everyone around here is too tall."

Tyrion grinned. This girl was certainly nothing like her sister. She was far more honest, and far less careful. It could get her killed in this place. "I must agree with you, Lady Stark."

Tywin cleared his throat leaning forward. "Did you come with a purpose, Tyrion?"

"I usually do," Tyrion said, releasing Arya's hand. "We don't speak in our leisure time, father."

His father regarded him coldly for a long moment before looking to Arya. "You may go."

Arya nodded once. "My lords." Then she slipped from the room.

"She's quite something," Tyrion commented. "Different from her sister. Courtesies don't become her."

"Did you come here to discuss the Stark girl?" Tywin asked.

"No. I was just making small talk." Tyrion sat down in front of him. "I came to discuss the future."

"That's a vague purpose."

"My future then."

Tywin laughed once though there was no joy in it. "You want to know if there is still a position of power for you here, now that I have taken back my seat as hand of the king."

"That's the short way of putting it yes," Tyrion said. "I did prove myself capable of handling the responsibility."

"You brought a whore to my bed. Is that what you call being capable?"

"I did not spend _all_ of my time in bed or with whores," Tyrion muttered. "I kept Joffrey in line as best as I could and when he cowered in the keep, I held the gates at the Battle of Blackwater. I _bled_ for this family."

"And you want a reward."

"Yes," Tyrion said. "Is that truly so much to ask, father? For some sort of recognition?"

"Jugglers and singers ask for applause. You are a Lannister," Tywin said flatly. "Do you think I demanded a garland of roses every time I suffered a wound on the battlefield?"

Tyrion clenched his jaw. No, his father did not ever seem to have any need for the recognition of others. But he did not know what it was like to be looked down upon every single day. People respected him. Tyrion would not need rewards either if he was simply respected.

"I have seven kingdoms to rule now," Tywin said. "You may have bled for this family, but you would have died had the Tyrells not arrived at my orders. While you were whoring and playing at power, I made peace with the north, crushed Stannis' armies, and now the Greyjoys are on the run. The War of Five Kings is over."

"Were we having a competition? Forgive me, I would have brought more of my accomplishments," Tyrion said, staring at his hands.

" _What_ do you want, Tyrion?" Tywin raised his voice then, at the edge of his patience.

"I want what is mine. By right." Tyrion matched his father's volume. "Jaime may be your eldest son, but he surrendered his right to your lands and titles when he donned the white cloak. I am, therefore, your heir. You can't deny that. I don't ask for a bloody garland of roses. I won't even ask for your gratitude because I know I'll never get that. But I do ask for what is mine."

"So, you want Casterly Rock," Tywin said.

"With Jaime in the King's Guard, I am your heir," Tyrion said. "I may be a dwarf, but I'm still your son."

"Yes," Tywin agreed after a pause. "You are my son. You killed your mother coming into this world. Do you think I would forget that?"

Tyrion gritted his teeth together. "You always speak of that day as if it was by design. As if I intended-"

"I don't care _what_ you intended. It happened all the same," Tywin snapped. "You will be given more suitable quarters for your name and station. You will be given a position of power within this keep so that you can continue to serve your family. Serve well, and eventually you may have a wife. But nothing on earth can compel me to name you my heir. I will die before I see you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse."

The words stung Tyrion to his very core. They had always been implied of course, in his father's cold tone and his icy glares. Yet to hear them out loud still hurt more than Tyrion wanted to admit.

"Tell me, father. To whom will you give Casterly Rock? I am eager to know," he murmured.

"That's none of your concern," Tywin said. "We'll speak no more of your rights." He spoke with such an air of finality that there was no room to argue further. "Go. Now."

Tyrion could do nothing but obey. His father always claimed the last word, one way or another, and Tyrion did not want to hear anymore words from him that day.

* * *

Even when everything else seemed relatively hopeless, Tyrion could still count on Jaime. Having his brother back at the keep, safe and sound, was a bright spot to his loss of power. Of everyone in his family, Jaime was the only one who truly liked him. His father and sister had rejected him long ago, but Jaime taught him to ride and how to speak with charm. It was a relief to see him again.

His time as a northern prisoner had clearly weakened him. He was thinner and paler, with some scars lingering on his face. But he was still Jaime, with his usual easy smiles. He needed a few of those after his conversation with their father.

"So...how did it go?" Jaime asked.

"About how you'd expect," Tyrion said.

"That bad?" Jaime poured them both wine and handed him a cup. Tyrion drained it in a few gulps and he raised an eyebrow. "Worse?"

"Always worse." Tyrion handed his cup to Jaime to be filled again. He wanted to drink his weight in wine. "Even with the white cloak on, he still seems to think of you as his heir."

"I don't want the Rock," Jaime said. "I would much prefer you have it."

"Don't tell our Lord Father. Then he might hate you as much as me," Tyrion said. "Well, not quite."

"Perhaps we should employ the new ward to talk to him for us for now on," Jaime said. "He doesn't seem to mind when she argues."

Tyrion leaned forward. "So you noticed it too."

"Am I blind and deaf? Of _course_ I noticed it." Jaime shook his head. "I've witnessed a few of their conversations. And he kept her as his cup bearer for a few months before the war ended. Clearly he enjoys the girl."

"But why?" Tyrion said. "We simply must figure out her secrets."

Jaime grinned. "Hoping to learn from her?"

"Why not?" Tyrion said. "I'll take whatever help I can get at this point." Tyrion clasped his wine glass in both hands. "Let us think. What does she have in common with people that father likes?"

"First we have to identify who father likes," Jaime said.

"True. A difficult task." Tyrion tapped the rim of his cup as he thought. "Uncle Kevan?"

"Yes, he likes Kevan," Jaime said. "Aunt Genna too. He always allowed her to talk back to him. I think he likes our aunt better than any of our uncles in fact."

"He likes all of his siblings well enough. Though few of their spouses," Tyrion acknowledged.

"What do they all have in common?" Jaime asked.

"Well, they are family," Tyrion said. "I suppose they're not afraid of our father. They grew up with him. Maybe that makes it more difficult to fear someone. I don't fear Cersei for that very reason."

"Really? I fear her sometimes." Jaime said mildly.

Tyrion tilted his head to the side. "Is she not happy to see you returned?"

"Happy? Maybe. But also drunk and very angry," Jaime glanced down at Tyrion's nearly empty cup of wine. "You both drink too much these days."

"Tell her that she's reminding you of me. Maybe she'll stop," Tyrion finished the wine and went to pour more. "Back to the matter in question. Our aunt and uncles are different from Lady Arya as they are siblings."

"This is true. So who else does he like?" Jaime asked.

"Well, you and Cersei of course," Tyrion said.

"It does not seem like that sometimes," Jaime said.

"If you could hear the difference in how he spoke to us, you would know it," Tyrion said. "You're the Golden son, Jaime. You can get away with nearly anything, and you'll still be the favorite." He smiled ruefully. "Even if he does get angry."

"He's certainly shouted at me much louder than he has shouted at Arya Stark," Jaime said. "Because he cares perhaps."

"Yes. He has high expectations of you." Tyrion snapped his fingers. "Maybe that's it."

"What?" Jaime asked.

"High expectations. Our Lord Father may love you and Cersei, but he has dreadfully high expectations for both of you. No offense, but you constantly fall short," Tyrion said. "He has high expectations for many people."

"But not for the Stark girl," Jaime said.

"No," Tyrion said. "He had no expectations for her from the beginning. It makes it very easy for her to exceed them."

"Perhaps that is the key," Jaime said. "But then, father always had low expectations for you as well."

Tyrion smiled bitterly. "I'm a special case, Jaime. He hates me so much that even if I rose above his standards, he would never admit it." He raised his glass. "So there's no hope for me."

Jaime plucked the glass from his hand before he could take a drink and set it out of his reach. "You've had enough."

"I don't think so. I'd like a lot more," Tyrion said.

"To hell with what father thinks of you," Jaime said. "The way I hear it, you did save this city. You did a respectable job of handling Joffrey as well. Whether father acknowledges or not, this city owes you their lives. Isn't that enough for you to know?"

"Was it enough for you to know?" Tyrion murmured. "When they called you Kingslayer?"

Jaime looked down at the table with a heavy sigh. "Well...it helped at least."

Tyrion stood in his chair, leaning forward and plucking his cup back from Jaime. "Cheers," he raised his glass. "To impossible expectations."

Jaime half smiled and tapped his cup against Tyrion's. "Let's see how long the Stark girl can exceed them."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Not too much of Arya this chapter, but I had to put a little focus on the Lannister family drama, naturally. Next time, Arya will be interacting more with both of the Lannister brothers. Until then, review, subscribe etc. Happy Reading!**_


	9. Chapter 9: The Brothers Lannister

_**A/N: I enjoyed writing this chapter. I love me some Lannisters, and Jaime and Tyrion are both in my top five characters. Not much Tywin in this chapter, but I promise he will be back next time! Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 9: The Brothers Lannister**

While Arya was a hostage, she was allowed a certain amount of freedom. She did not have a guard standing over her at every hour of the day, for instance. They guarded her door at night, but left her be otherwise. She had asked Tywin why this was shortly after her arrival.

" _Why am I not under constant watch?"_

" _Would you like to be?"_

" _No, that's...that's not what I mean. What if I tried to escape?"_

Tywin had gotten an almost amused gleam in his eye at this. _"And put your family in danger? Would you really do such a thing, Lady Stark?"_

Arya understood the message loud and clear. She was here to keep her family in line, but Tywin also meant to use them to keep her in line. If she did escape, he might decide to strike first before the North could rise up again. She would never give him an excuse to do that, so she would stay within the castle walls.

Besides her nighttime guards, she had a handmaid named Shae. She was pretty and her accent hinted that she came from across the narrow sea. She had served Sansa during her stay at King's Landing.

At first, Arya did not trust her. She thought she must be a spy from the queen, designated to keep an eye on any Stark girl within the keep. Sansa was gone and now her assignment was Arya.

But Shae was too free with her words to be one of Cersei's spies. Cersei would only employ those who acted like perfect ladies. But Shae spoke her mind.

"Your hair is too short for me to do anything," she said. "Short like a boy's."

"Then don't _do_ anything to it," Arya said. "I can brush it myself you know."

"Then what work would I have to do?" Shae asked, picking up the brush and combing through Arya's tangles. She winced. "Will you grow it out?"

"I expect they'll want me too."

"Who's they?"

"The Lannisters," Arya said. "I'm a ward of their house. I'm sure they'll want me to play a little lady."

"Your sister had to do the same," Shae acknowledged.

"Sansa doesn't have to _play_ at being a perfect lady. She is," Arya protested.

"She's a lady maybe. But it's hard to be perfect in a place where your family died." She raked her brush through a particularly difficult tangle and Arya winced. "Your sister had a difficult time here."

Arya glanced down from her reflection in the mirror, feeling a rush of guilt. Of course, Sansa had a difficult time here. Lady or not, she must have wanted to claw the kings eyes out or throttled Cersei with her bare hands.

"She's better at pretending," she said at last. "I've never been very good at it."

"Then learn," Shae said.

She could learn to play the role with practice, but that did not mean she had to be totally docile.

In her visit to the Chamber of the Hand, Arya made note of Tywin's many boxes and knew, in her heart, that needle must be somewhere in side. She memorized the times in which he went to the small council meetings with his guards. She memorized the opportunities when the chamber of the hand was left open.

He never left anything sensitive lying about. He finished his letters when he began writing them and sent them off shortly afterwards. It was not his letters that she wanted anyway, but a possession of hers that he kept safely tucked away somewhere. In the short window of time she had, she searched the boxes. When she found nothing, she was always careful to put everything back exactly the way she found it. Until one day, she clasped Needle's hilt in her hand again.

She let out a breath of relief and drew her sword from the trunk. Then she carefully shifted the other belongings to make sure everything looked organized again.

She scurried down the hall with needle stuffed down the back of her dress. She would have to find her own hiding place for her sword, but at least she could have it near. To hold Jon's gift to her again...it made her feel just a little closer to home.

Arya could not hide needle in her own room. That would be too obvious a place and she could not deny having stolen it then. Besides, her room was no place to practice swordplay. It was far too small to really drill without knocking into furniture. And she could not very well carry her sword with her every day when she practiced.

Fortunately, she knew of a place where few people went. That was why her father had chosen it for her dancing lessons-so that no one would know. Arya retraced the familiar halls back to the place where Syrio used to teach her. This room was large and empty-open to the air. There were gaps in the stone, just large enough to fit needle. She could cover the gap with some of the old crates that had been rotting in the corner for ages.

Then when she needed to practice, she could always find her sword.

Arya stepped carefully across the stone floor, turning needle in hand. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Syrio standing before her, chiding her for her lack of practice.

 _You must practice every day, or your body forgets. When your body forgets, it stumbles when you need it most. And you die._

His voice was so clear in her head. She could remember almost every word he ever said to her.

 _What do we say to the god of death?_

"Not today," Arya whispered.

 _Good. Begin._

Arya started with the basics. The footwork. She practiced all of the forms again. Her body had not yet forgotten the stances, even though some of them were clumsy. She had little time to practice as a prisoner. When the footwork felt sound again, she added needle to the mix. She lunged and stabbed, then retreated. She blocked one strike, then a second. She imagined she was fighting Merryn Trant, the man who had killed Syrio. She was back in this room on that day, but this time she did not run. She fought with Syrio and beat the soldiers back.

 _Not today. Not today._

She stabbed out at another opponent, then spun around. Her blade clanged off of another sword. A _real_ sword, with a real owner.

Ser Jaime Lannister smirked down at her. "Should you have a sword, Lady Arya?"

Arya paled and stepped back a few feet, hiding needle behind her back, as if he hadn't already seen it. "It's mine. I didn't steal it."

"I believe you. You're clearly familiar with the weapon," Jaime said. "But it must have been taken from you when you were caught."

Arya swallowed hard. "Please...don't tell your father."

"Ah," Jaime nodded knowingly. "So you stole it back from him."

"I didn't steal-it is _mine_."

"Yours or not, he's going to notice eventually."

"Then let him find out eventually and not _now_."

Jaime laughed once. Laughter came easier to him than it did to his father. "What do you want with a sword, my lady? Planning to skewer someone with it?"

"No, that would be stupid," Arya said. "Everyone would know it was me. I just..." She lifted her chin. "I wanted to practice again. It's been too long since I practiced."

"I see." Jaime circled around her, turning his sword in hand. "And what would you do with all of this practice? Do you plan to become a knight?"

Arya's eyes narrowed. "Don't mock me, ser."

"I'm not. You know, I was returned to my father by a woman who was close to a knight," Jaime said. Arya wondered for a moment if he was referring to Brienne, her sister's new guard. "Of course...she was taller than most men by quite a bit. You're much... smaller."

"I can be quick," Arya retorted.

"Undoubtedly," Jaime stopped in front of her again, raising his sword a bit. "Well, let's see how good you are."

Arya's grip tightened on needle, fearing some sort of trick. "I...I'm not sure..."

"I won't cut you," Jaime promised.

The slight challenge banished Arya's uncertainty. He doubted her skills. She could hear it. Her eyes narrowed and she raised her sword. "I won't cut you either."

Jaime grinned and stepped to the side. She mirrored him, keeping light on her feet. When he suddenly stepped in the other direction, she changed course.

"Your footwork is good," Jaime said.

"My teacher said footwork was one of the most important skills," Arya said. "It could make the difference between living and dead."

"Your teacher was right," Jaime said. His eyes seemed to flash and he flicked out his sword. Arya parried just in time. He struck out again and she blocked again. "He taught you reflexes too."

"Yes," Arya said. She realized Jaime was testing her abilities. He inherited that from his father at least. Everyone in this place _always_ seemed to be testing her. "He also taught me never to underestimate an enemy, my lord."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. He heard the challenge loud and clear. "Best take his advice then," he said. He struck again.

This time, Jaime did not pause between blows. He rained strike after strike down on her as she blocked and dodged as fast as she could. She knew he was still holding back quite a lot, but at least he was giving her a challenge. The Kingslayer made it all look so easy. He was backing her up toward the wall.

 _Never let your enemy back you into a corner. That corner will become your grave._

She used her small size to her advantage, ducking under his next blow and spinning around him, away from the wall.

"Smart," Jaime said. "But do you plan on ducking and dodging forever? You won't win that way."

Arya's eyes narrowed as she avoided his next blow. Then she went for a lunge.

It was a mistake. Jaime was expecting the move and he caught her wrist, twisting her sword from her grasp. In the same motion he knocked her flat with the hilt of his blade and she gasped for breath as she hit the ground. The next thing she knew, he stood over her, his sword aimed at her neck.

"Don't let your opponent bait you into an attack," Jaime said. "Especially when you know they have more experience."

Arya released a breath. "My teacher said something similar once."

"You clearly had a good teacher." Jaime inspected needle. She felt nervous not having it in her hand. What if he took it? "You're quick and you're a small target. It helps make up for your weakness."

"It's not my fault I don't grow," Arya said.

"I didn't say it was. It's not your fault you were born a woman either." Jaime offered her a hand. She took it and he pulled her back to her feet. "You're about as good as I was at your age."

"Really?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Jaime said. "Smaller...but good. I didn't see a real battle until I was fifteen."

Arya dropped her gaze. She had already killed twice. And arranged the deaths of two others with Jaquen.

Jaime did not miss her look. "You've already had your first kill, haven't you?"

"Yes," Arya said. "A boy who wanted to turn me in when I first escaped from the keep. And a soldier who tried to take advantage of me while I was cupbearer to your father."

"Well..." Jaime offered her back needle. "Being willing to kill is half of the game of fighting. If you're not willing to take a life, your opponent will take yours. Simple as that."

Arya gratefully took her sword. He wasn't going to keep it then. She worried he might take it back to his father. "How...how did you find me here today, ser?"

"Oh I wasn't looking for you," Jaime said. "Actually, I was looking for somewhere quiet to practice. My skills have gotten rusty since I spent so long as your brother's prisoner. I didn't want to practice for everyone to see, so I came here."

"You don't seem rusty," Arya said.

Jaime smirked. "That's because I'm very good. Even out of practice, I'm better than most men. At my best, there are only a few men in the seven kingdoms who can match me."

"My teacher said arrogance is a costly flaw in battle," Arya said.

"It's not costly if it's true," Jaime paced around her, flipping his sword in hand a few times. "You know, your father could nearly match me. He killed Ser Arthur Dayne. He was _very_ good."

"He didn't like you," Arya said.

Jaime smiled bitterly, slicing twice at the air. The sword seemed to weigh nothing in his hand. It was like an extension of his arm. Arya had always wanted to see Jaime Lannister fight up close when she was younger. She wanted to watch all of the great swordsmen of Westeros in battle. "No. Lord Eddard made that very clear."

"He said you were a man without honor."

"So have many others. That is why so many call me kingslayer."

"I didn't understand it," Arya admitted.

Jaime stopped in the mid swing, glancing over his shoulder. "What didn't you understand?"

"In the war, my father was fighting against the Mad King. He wanted to kill him for hurting our family. That's why the war started," Arya said. "But he said he did not like you because you killed the Mad King. It never made sense to me. He said I was too young to understand."

Jaime lowered his sword slowly. "And how did your father explain it to you?"

"He said you made a vow," Arya said. "A holy vow to protect the king. Which meant that was your duty no matter what, even if the king was mad. A man who breaks a vow cannot be trusted."

"That does sound like him," Jaime said. "Tell me, Lady Arya...were you in the city when your father was killed?"

Arya swallowed hard. Memories of that day welled up inside of her, burning through her chest. She was there and remembered every detail of the sept. Of the mob. Of Joffrey screaming for her father's death.

 _Bring me his head._

"Yes," she said at last. "I was watching from the statue of Baelor. Hiding amongst the mob."

"It must have been an awful day for you," Jaime said. "Imagine for a moment you were standing on that platform with your father. What would you have done if the king gave you the executioner's sword and bid you to bring him your father's head?"

Arya barred her teeth at the mere suggestion. "I would have killed the king instead. In an instant."

"What if you made a holy vow to do as the king said?" Jaime asked. "To protect the king...would that have made a difference?"

"No," Arya muttered. "If anyone had asked me to kill me father I would have cut them down. Vow or no vow."

Jaime smiled bitterly. "Then I suppose in my position...you would have made the same choice." Then, without another word, he turned and left her there.

Arya watched him go, confused by his response. Her father had said nothing of why Jaime killed the king. She assumed that he just didn't like Aerys and decided he did not want to serve him anymore.

Had the Mad King threatened his father? Had he asked Jaime to kill him?

She shook her head. It really didn't matter why Jaime Lannister killed the mad king. Her father was a good judge of people. If he said Jaime was dishonorable then he was. After all, he was a Lannister.

She could not allow weakness around him or anyone else.

She would learn from her father's mistakes.

* * *

Arya continued to accidentally run into Jaime over those next few months-sometimes in the halls and sometimes when she was practicing. When she did, it was hard not to speak to him. Her hatred of his family name mixed with her childhood fascination with great warriors, and her desire to learn from someone so gifted at swordplay. He did not discourage her practices, and in fact seemed intrigued by her dedication. Sometimes he sparred with her to test her out.

Try as she might, she could not hate him.

The same could be said for his younger brother Tyrion. The dwarf always made conversation with her when they happened to cross paths, always with a friendly smile on his face.

"Lady Stark. I see that you're still alive. My father has not bored you to death yet?"

He offered to teach her how to play Cyvasse, a game popular Dorne, in order to keep her entertained. He said it grew boring only playing against Bronn, his sell sword for hire who often traveled with him. Arya turned down the invitation the first time, but she longed for something else to fill her days and she accepted his second offer.

 _Better to know all the Lannisters well if I want to survive,_ Arya told herself.

Cyvasse was a game of strategy-a game of calculated risks and great rewards. One had to be smart in how they placed their pieces and be willing to make smart sacrifices if they wanted to win. It was something like a game of war but without the real bloodshed. Arya found it very stimulating and frustrating at the same time. Stimulating because she loved strategy-frustrating because Tyrion beat her every game.

"You are improving greatly, Lady Stark," Tyrion said after her latest defeat. "The matches last much longer now."

Arya sighed, plucking one of the extra pieces from the box. It was a king piece with a cracked crown. She wondered why he even kept the extra piece when it was damaged. "I still lose. Just more slowly."

"Because you need more practice. Be patient," Tyrion grinned. "I expected you to be quite terrible at this game, but you're already exceeding my expectations."

Arya glared at him. "And why did you expect me to be terrible?"

"Why, because you're a Stark. Starks are a straightforward lot and candid people do not do well at this game."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "My brother was beating your father quite soundly in battle until your father used me against him."

Tyrion raised his wine glass. "Very true. I think I like this new generation of Starks."

"Why? We're the enemies of your family," Arya pointed out.

"Well, I only faced the Starks in the field once and I was knocked out for much of it," Tyrion said. "In any case, we're at peace now. We're not _technically_ enemies. And I like anyone who can show up my father every once and awhile."

Arya studied Tyrion. "You don't like your father...do you?"

"No. And he doesn't like me. You've probably noticed. He's very honest about it," Tyrion said.

"Lord Tywin does not seem to like anyone. But yes I have noticed." Arya observed him carefully. "Why does he...?"

"Hate me so much?" Tyrion finished for her. "I'm a big disappointment, you see. I'm a dwarf. That's quite a crime in the noble family of Lannister. To make matters worse, my mother died bringing me into this world. He never forgave me for that, and he's been gathering other reasons to hate me ever since so he makes himself seem more reasonable. But everyone knows why he truly despises me."

Arya sighed. "For something you can't control. My mother was like that with my half-brother Jon."

"Ah yes. Jon Snow," Tyrion said. "I wondered how welcome he was in the house."

"Father was always kind to him," Arya said. "So were the rest of us. Well...Sansa was not very kind to him but...but I was. Robb was. Bran and Rickon adored him too. My mother _hated_ him. Not because he had done anything wrong but because he wasn't hers. My mother is a kind woman, but she couldn't pretend even for a moment, that she did not loathe Jon."

"Yes. Your mother is a kind woman," Tyrion agreed. "My father doesn't even have that going for him. You can imagine my situation."

"At least he doesn't particularly like anyone else," Arya said. "I'm not sure if he's capable of liking anyone."

Tyrion's mouth twitched. "Oh, lady Arya. I know you're new to this place, but you'll learn to tell the difference in time. My father likes some people. He's just not obvious about it."

Arya nodded once. "I would be interested to see that."

"I'd say you already have multiple times," Tyrion said.

Arya gave him a look. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," Tyrion said. "Let's play another game. I'm in the mood to beat you again."

Arya sat forward in her chair. "Perhaps this will be time that I win."

It was not the time that she won, but she didn't mind. Tyrion, of all the Lannisters, seemed the easiest to like. If his father rejected him, he couldn't be all that bad. And he hadn't done any plotting against her family.

She did not want to become complacent in this place. But as time went on, she was adapting. She was learning, just as Shae suggested.

Could she really be blamed for that?

* * *

 _ **A/N: Whew. That was actually a rather long chapter. Next week we get a bit more intense with a bit more plot. Review and tell me all your thoughts! Until next time, happy reading!**_


	10. Chapter 10: Pain

_**A/N: Alright, so we've had enough chill chapters, don't you think? Let's throw some Joffrey into the mix. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 10: Pain**

Arya avoided Joffrey for three full weeks, partially because he was on a hunting trip for half of that time. For the other half, he seemed to not know of her arrival. Tywin, no doubt, decided not to inform him so that he wouldn't cause trouble.

But his mother knew, and of course she must have told her son all about Arya's new place in the capitol. Arya was walking back to her room when she saw two of his kingsguard in the hall with the king standing between them.

It had been a year since Arya had last seen Joffrey. He looked the same as ever-though perhaps a bit taller. He still had the same cruel green eyes and the same vicious sneer. The last time she saw him, he was giving the order to remove her father's head.

Joffrey's lips curled back into an awful smile when he saw her.

"Lady Arya. It is you." He took a step forward. "I hardly believed it when I heard you had been brought to the keep."

Arya took a step back. "Yes...your grace." She forced the title out past gritted teeth. Rage made her almost dizzy, but she knew better than to lash out. Not here. It would only get her killed. "I'm a ward to the Lannister family now."

"To keep your traitor brother in line. I've heard," Joffrey kept moving toward her. Arya was torn between lunging at him, fleeing or standing her ground. She chose standing her ground, though she swayed on the spot. "I don't know why my grandfather didn't kill you as punishment. Why keep you here? It's not as if you're useful."

Arya's gaze flicked to the Kingsguard. One of them was Merryn Trant. She could see his face beneath his helmet. Two of them in their strong armor would be able to overpower her easily. "I'm a hostage, your grace. I hear those are very useful."

"Sometimes yes," Joffrey said. "But we don't _need_ peace with the northerners. We should have taken all of their heads before we allowed peace."

"And how did you proposed to get all of their heads?" Arya asked. "Your grace."

"I wouldn't discuss my plans with you," Joffrey said indignantly. "But I think a good start would be sending them _your_ head. Payment for all of the men they killed."

Arya lifted her chin. "Your grandfather brought me back for a reason. He's your hand of the king, isn't he? I don't think he would advise you to kill me."

"No." Joffrey looked down at her. She _hated_ how much taller he stood. "But I can _hurt_ you." He glanced back at his Kingsguard. "Ser Meryn. Ser Boros."

The Kingsguard came at her. Arya had exactly one weapon: a fork she had kept from her lunch and slid up her sleeve. It was not enough to defend herself, but she would _not_ go down easily. Ser Boros reached for her and she ducked under his arm, only to stumble into Merryn. He seized her arms and lifted her off the ground, as if to throw her.

It was a mistake. She wrapped her legs around his waist to steady herself and knocked of his helmet. She drove the fork into his cheek, and snapped her teeth down on his ear, biting as hard as she could. He screamed and his grip tightened so much that Arya thought he might crush her arms. But she did not give. She kept biting and tearing the fork through his flesh until he smacked her upside the head, tearing her loose. She slammed to the ground gasping for breath. His ear fell from her mouth and rolled across the ground.

"You little _bitch_ ," Merryn snapped. She barely heard him. Her ears were ringing from the blow.

"She's wild as a wolf," Joffrey cried out. She hadn't even attacked him and he sounded afraid. "Show her a lion's strength."

A boot took her in the stomach. Then the ribs. Arya heard an audible crack and pain flashed through her body. She screamed before she could stop herself. Seven hells...had Sansa endured such abuse? Had they hurt her like this? She would kill them if they had hit her even once.

If she survived. Her vision blurred as the pain began to fog her brain. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. She could not fight if she could not breathe.

She could not survive either.

* * *

Jaime only happened to be passing by. He was on his way to speak to Tyrion about...something. He could not remember what it was later. It must have been some trivial annoyance. But when he passed down the hall, he heard a cry of pain.

Though he had long ago abandoned his honor, the knight in him still went toward the sound on instinct. Someone was in agony, and someone else was laughing about it.

 _Joffrey,_ Jaime thought. _Of course it's Joffrey. He has such a love of watching other creatures in pain._

It would likely be better not to intervene. He should leave Joffrey to his toys. He would check the situation and move on. Nothing more.

But when Jaime rounded the corner, he saw Arya Stark crumbled on the floor, curled into a ball to defend her body from the boots of the two Kingsguard standing over her. But the next kick from Merryn Trant sent her sprawling on her back, gasping for air. Joffrey laughed again.

 _Seven hells,_ Jaime stalked forward. The boy was going to hurl them right back into the war with the north "That's enough."

"Uncle," Joffrey said. "I'm teaching the girl a small lesson."

"Really," Jaime stopped just behind her. "What is that lesson exactly? That a thirteen year old girl can't win in a fight against two fully armored knights?" He glanced at Merryn. He had a nasty gash in his face and was missing most of his right ear. "It seems she did better than expected."

"We do as the king commands," Merryn protested.

"That's right, you do, don't you?" Jaime said. "I heard you did as the king commanded when he ordered you to beat Sansa Stark too. Because the king isn't very good at handling hostages."

Joffrey's face twisted in rage. "You don't speak to me like that, uncle. I am your king."

"Yes, your grace, you are," Jaime said. "You should start acting more like one."

Joffrey seemed bewildered by Jaime's words as he knelt beside Arya Stark. One of her eyes was blackened, but the other cracked open. She was still conscious.

"Apologies, Lady Stark," Jaime said. "We should get you to a maester."

"I'm not done with her yet," Joffrey said.

"Yes you are," Jaime said.

"Ser Merryn. Ser Boros," Joffrey said. Both Kingsguard took a step toward Jaime and he drew his sword.

"Come closer, and I'll cut through both of you," Jaime promised.

"It's our duty to protect and obey the king," Merryn Trant spat. "Maybe you forgot that while you were a prisoner, Kingslayer."

Jaime tilted his head to the side. "Well, I didn't forget my sword play while I was a prisoner. And that means I could very easily kill both of you. It would leave the king without two of his guards. That would not be protecting him, would it?"

The two men stilled. They knew better than to fight with Jaime. With Barristan Selmy gone, Jaime was the best swordsmen in the keep.

When the knights did not advance, Jaime sheathed his sword again and bent to pick up Arya Stark. Thankfully, she was small and easy to carry.

"Ser...Jaime?" she croaked out. Her voice was dangerously weak.

"Stay awake if you would, Lady Stark," Jaime murmured. "The maester will take care of you."

 _And my father will take care of them,_ he thought. Lord Tywin would not be happy about this development in the least.

* * *

Tyrion had witnessed his father's anger on multiple occasions. Quite often, Tyrion himself was the cause of it. But he had to admit, it was a bit cathartic to see Joffrey on the receiving end of Tywin's rage.

"Attacking Arya Stark was stupid," Tywin said coldly. "Nearly as stupid as chopping off Ned Stark's head. Apparently you did not learn your lesson from that incident."

"The Starks are all _traitors_ ," Joffrey said. "I took Ned Stark's head because he said I was not a king. Robb Stark claimed the same and you offered peace."

"Peace is much less expensive than war, your grace," Tywin said. "Shall I have Lord Baelish explain the numbers to you?"

Lord Baelish looked like he would really rather not explain any of that. All of the small council was keeping quiet, not wanting to stand in the middle of this fight between the King and his Hand. Even Cersei looked hesitant when she spoke.

"That girl is wild," she murmured. "I'm sure Joffrey was only defending himself."

"He was not," Tywin said flatly. "That's the same weak lie you used the first time they fought."

"I don't need a _reason_ ," Joffrey said. "She's our hostage."

"And her wellbeing is what keeps us from restarting another pointless war with the north right on the edge of winter," Tywin snapped. The volume of his voice seemed to shrink Joffrey for a moment. Tyrion hid a smile behind his hand. Yes, he did enjoy watching this.

"Your grace," Varys said carefully. "If I may...Robb Stark has sworn allegiance to you and will ride south soon to swear it before the throne in the sight of gods and men. Since they have surrendered...mercy seems a wise course of action."

"I am merciful if I don't execute every one of the north men for treason," Joffrey spat.

"You would be ruling over cold graves then," Tyrion pointed out. "Not very lively subjects."

"That is my right. I am the _king_." Joffrey declared.

"Any man who must say "I am the king" is no true king." Tywin stood from his seat. He was quite a bit taller than Joffrey and the boy seemed to notice it, gripping his mother's chair for support. "If your enemies defy you, destroy them. But if they kneel, you must help them to their feet. Otherwise, no man will ever kneel to you. King Aerys never understood that but you must if you want your line to survive."

Joffrey bristled at this. "Is that a threat?"

"It is advice...your Grace," Tywin seemed to add the title almost as an afterthought. "I am your hand. I _advise_ you. I suggest that you listen."

"Why should I?" Joffrey asked.

"Wise men listen, especially to the men who won their war for them."

"You didn't win. You made _peace_." Joffrey spat the word, as if it tasted sour. "My father won the real war. He killed Prince Rhaegar. He took the iron throne while you hid under Casterly Rock!"

A deep silence fell over the room. Pycelle gripped the edge of the table and Varys and Littlefinger exchanged shocked glances. Cersei stared intently at her hands, as if wishing there was a wine glass in them. Tyrion very nearly started laughing but he forced it down. That was not a wise thing to say to his father. It was technically _true,_ but it wasn't wise.

Tywin regarded Joffrey coldly. In the endless quiet, the boy king squirmed nervously, unable to hold his gaze. He raised his chin in a weak attempt to seem stronger, but everyone could see his fear.

"The king is tired," Tywin said at last, with extraordinary finality. "See him to his chambers."

Cersei was on her feet in a second, taking Joffrey's hand. "Come now. Let's go."

"I'm not tired," Joffrey muttered.

"It's late. You should rest," Cersei led him toward the door.

"Grand Maester. Perhaps an essence of nightshade to help him sleep," Tywin glanced at Pycelle.

Joffrey turned back, calling on what seemed to be the last of his courage. "You can't just send me to my rooms."

"I am. Right now," Tywin said. "And if you jeopardize our peace with the North by harming Arya Stark again, I'll send you there longer."

Joffrey offered up no more argument to that. He fell quiet and allowed Cersei to guide him from the room. Quite the king indeed.

The other members of the small council shuffled out rather quickly, not eager to remain in the aftermath of Tywin's rage. Tyrion lingered for a moment, an amused smile on his face.

"You just sent the most powerful man in the kingdoms to bed without his supper."

"You're a fool if you think Joffrey is the most powerful man," Tywin said.

"A _treasonous_ statement. Joffrey is king," Tyrion said.

Tywin gave him a look. "He'll only become more difficult to manage the older he gets. The Mad King was the same way. In the beginning he took advice. He listened. By the end, nothing could be said."

"That doesn't bode well," Tyrion said. "Joffrey does not even take advice now. He can be manipulated and intimidated. Margaery does quite a good job at the former and you're good at the latter. But eventually he is going to catch on to both."

Tywin did not reply to that. "What have you heard of the Stark girl's condition?"

"Her right arm is broken. Several broken ribs and far more bruises. One of her eyes is swollen shut," Tyrion said. "But she will live."

"Good," Tywin said. "Those kingsguard should be thankful for that. It would be their heads otherwise."

"Meryn Trant may be suffering his punishment already," Tyrion said. "The girl bit off his ear and stabbed him in the face with a fork. Not a clean wound. I hear it has become badly infected because he did not see to it."

"If a knight can be killed with a fork and a girl's teeth, he should not be a knight," Tywin said. "Did Joffrey handle the other Stark girl this way?"

"He tried to. I stopped him when I could," Tyrion said. "She never earned a beating this terrible, but then again, Sansa was a gentler creature. I have no doubt Arya Stark fought back."

"She has her father's foolish bravery as well as his look." Tywin tapped his fingers against the table. "We'll have to cure her of that."

"Cure her of his look? I don't think that's possible," Tyrion said.

"Do you ever stop trying to be clever?" Tywin said.

"No. Do you?" Tyrion asked.

Tywin regarded him coldly. "Keep an eye on the girl, Tyrion, and make sure word of this does not reach her brother until she is recovered. I am not going to fall back into war with the north this close to the winter. If you were able to manage Joffrey before, you should be able to keep him and the Stark girl away from each other now."

Tyrion nodded. He knew their discussion was at its end.

Part of him had wished that his father had never returned. Then he might have continued to be hand of the king forever. But on the other hand, now it was Tywin's job to manage Joffrey, and he might find it was not so easy. The boy was afraid of him for now. That was what gave him an edge.

It wouldn't last forever. When Joffrey got stupid enough, who knew what kind of madness he would rain on the seven kingdoms?

* * *

 _ **A/N: I like writing furious Tywin, and I enjoyed pulling from one of my favorite scenes in the whole show. And of course, it would be King's Landing without some attempted murder. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	11. Chapter 11: Healing and Letters

**_A/N: Here's a pretty long chapter for you all. Lots of characters and character interactions in this one that I enjoyed writing. Plus some maybe prophetic dreams :) Cause Game of Thrones loves its symbolic dreams._**

 ** _To answer some commonly asked questions about the direction of this fic: Yes, eventually this fic will go all the way up to the white walkers. I'm changing the timeline of the seasons just a LITTLE bit so that the fic can take place over a longer period of time. But there will be white walkers. Also, yes, Nymeria will eventually show in this fic, but not for some time. For people asking about Gendry: He is alive and well. I'm not sure if he will be showing up in this fic. There may not be space for him or a place to work him in. But he did not die.  
_**

 ** _Without further ado, let's get to the fic!_**

 **Chapter 11: Healing and Letters**

Arya faded in and out of consciousness for the first few days, though she would much rather be asleep. Being awake meant pain every time she even breathed. She would rather be lost in her dreams.

She had many strange dreams. In one she found herself racing through the forest at top speed. All around her, wolves howled. She was running with them, and they followed her as if they belonged to her pack. Perhaps they did. She was running on all fours. Powerful. Unstoppable. She could have fought anything and won in that moment.

 _Give me a name,_ Jaquen Hagar's voice echoed from some distant place. _And the man will do the rest._

She lunged at a deer and crushed its neck in her strong jaws. The blood tasted warm on her tongue.

She found herself at Winterfell in the crypts, staring up at a statue of her father. When she stumbled from the darkness and up to the surface, the snow had fallen deeper than she had ever seen. Flayed men hung between two towers. They all looked down at her with vacant eyes.

She found herself back at Harrenhal, surrounded by death. Bodies scattered the courtyard, all with different sigils on their armor. Wolves, lions, stags. Ravens looked down from the battlements, and high above, she heard the beat of great wings.

She found herself at the sept of Baelor, surrounded by the mob. Only this time she was standing on the platform beside her father. Joffrey held a sword out to her. Her father's sword.

 _Bring me his head._

She gripped the great sword, drawing in painful breaths and turned to face her father. He looked up at her as she raised the sword.

The crowd called for blood.

* * *

Arya woke with a painful gasp. Everything hurt, but this time she felt as if she were awake for good. She gritted her teeth, and rested her head back against the pillow.

 _I'm alive at least. Pain means I am alive._

"Lady Stark. Are you awake for good this time?"

Arya glanced to the side to see Tyrion sitting in the corner of her room. He was reading a very large book.

"I think so," Arya said. "Have you been...watching me?"

"Yes. Orders from my father. In case anyone comes to finish you, I'll be here to fight them off. I'm very fearsome in a battle you see."

"That's a lie," said another voice. Arya saw a man leaning against the wall. She had seen him with Lord Tyrion before. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. "He pays me to do the fighting."

Tyrion smiled dryly. "Have you met Ser Bronn?"

"In passing," Arya managed. "Is he a sell sword?"

"An anointed knight now," Bronn smirked. "Notice the 'ser' in front of my name."

"You don't dress like a knight," Arya said.

"Aye. And I don't die like one either."

"Let's hope so anyway." Tyrion looked back at Arya. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Arya said.

"That's to be expected after you fought with two kingsguard." Tyrion snapped his book closed.

"Fought? It wasn't much of a fight," Arya said. "They attacked _me_ and I only got a few hits before I fell." She swallowed hard. "Has Joffrey been saying I attacked him first? I didn't. It's a lie. That would be-"

"Stupid, yes." Tyrion hopped off of his chair. "And you are not stupid. Never fear, Lady Stark. Joffrey did not claim you attacked him. Rather, he tried to say it was his right to abuse you. That explanation did not go over well with my father."

"Robb did say that if I was harmed he would raise his armies again," Arya said.

"My father won't let news of this incident reach your brother if he can help it," Tyrion said. "But his rage was quite the spectacle. You should have seen Joffrey quaking in his boots."

"I would have liked to see that." Arya forced a pained smile. "Joffrey is afraid of Lord Tywin, isn't he?"

"Everyone in the seven kingdoms is afraid of my father," Tyrion said. "Including the king. My father will be able to control him as long as that remains the case. Joffrey won't come after you for some time. Not until he gets brave again."

"I may not survive the next time he gets brave," Arya said. "I only survived this time because..." She trailed off. How did she survive? She remembered the pain mostly. Then the pain had stopped.

" _Come closer, and I'll cut through both of you."_

"Ser Jaime," she remembered. "Your brother stopped them, didn't he?"

"Yes," Tyrion said. "The king is not particularly happy with him for that. It's a good thing he's family."

"Do you think they would have killed me if he hadn't come?" Arya asked quietly.

"It's possible. But you are made of stronger stuff, aren't you?" He grinned. "One good thing did come from all of this."

"And what's that?" Arya asked.

"You might have killed that fucker Merryn Trant," Bronn said. "The way I heard it, his wounds have festered. Idiot didn't have them looked at."

"No," Tyrion said. "He wasn't willing to admit he had been injured by a thirteen year old girl. Now he's feverish and the maester says he may not live."

Arya could not keep herself from smiling. Merryn Trant was a name on her list. He had killed Syrio once. How funny it would be if he died of an infection wrought by her and a simple fork.

Tyrion left her to retrieve the maester then, ordering Bronn to stay and stand guard. Arya stared up at her ceiling, breathing shallowly through the pain. News of Merryn Trant's possible demise brought her list back to mind. The list she once repeated in her sleep.

 _Cersei_

 _Joffrey_

 _Tywin_

 _Illyn Payne_

 _Merryn Trant_

 _Polliver_

 _The Mountain_

 _The Hound_

She could not hope to kill most of them at her current position. But Merryn Trant's own stupidity had killed him.

Maybe the others would join him in the future, one way or another.

* * *

Recovery was slow and began to drive Arya absolutely mad. She hated being confined to bed for so long, and as soon as she could, she forced herself to walk around her room at least. The bruising had begun to fade and while her torso was still sore, she could breathe without wanting to die. Her arm was still the worse, bound up in a sling. It was fortunate that she was left handed, but she needed Shae's help to dress. Shae kept her company often and helped tend to her wounds. Arya liked talking to her, but she still felt she might go insane from boredom, trapped in her room.

It was two month before she felt able to walk the halls again. Her arm would be fully healed in another few months according to Grand Maester Pycelle, and he insisted there would be no lasting damage. It was a clean break. The pain, at least, had abated. There was a persistent tingling in Arya's fingers, but that was meant to fade in time.

Unfortunately, she now had two Lannister guards flanking her wherever she walked. For protection, according to Tyrion, but she did not like them watching her. She wasn't able to do anything without them coming along, which meant she could not escape to practice with needle. It was truly a dreadful situation.

Sansa always excelled at everything "ladylike", but Arya did not know how the practice didn't bore her sister to tears. Proper ladies did not run or fight. They practiced walking gracefully and needlework, at which Arya had always been horrid. Now, as she was still healing, Arya read to keep her mind from going numb as well as her fingers.

The only book in her room was _The Language of Flowers_ and after reading it twice through out of desperation, Arya never wanted to look at a flower again. In the confines her room, she once grew so bored that she balanced the book on top of her head to see how long she could keep it from falling.

She was doing just that when Tyrion entered the room to check on her progress. He was accompanied by a boy this time, just barely old enough to be a man. She had seen him before too. He was lord Tyrion's squire. Both of the men gave her an odd look.

"Trying to absorb the words through the top of your skull, Lady Arya?"

"She is practicing," Shae said. "So that she can walk like a lady."

"Do ladies walk around with books on their heads?" Tyrion asked.

"No. I'm just trying to entertain myself." Arya let the book slide off of her head. "I've read this volume twice now. It's not even interesting. I am so bored I've considered jumping off the balcony."

"I recommend against that," Tyrion said. "The Language of Flowers? That does sound like a dry read."

"Did you know that if you combine certain flowers together, they're supposed to mean something?" Arya sighed. "Why not just say what you mean? Why do you have to use flowers?"

"I've heard some women find it romantic," Tyrion said. "What do you think, Lady Shae?"

"I agree with Lady Arya. Men should say what they mean," Shae said.

"An interesting perspective. What say you, Podrick?"

The boy flushed. "Well I...I'm not sure...I don't think I know enough of flowers to say, my lord." He glanced at Arya. "I'm sure Lady Stark is right though."

"You see." Arya slapped the book down on her bed. "Please, you have to bring me some other books. It's the only thing I can do until I'm recovered."

"I have many books, fortunately," Tyrion said. "What do you enjoy reading, Lady Arya?"

"I enjoy books about the Targaryen conquests," Arya said. "And the Dance of Dragons. That's always exciting. If you have anything on the wars of the past, I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

"Interesting. Did your father let you read those?" Tyrion inquired.

"It was the only way he could get me _to_ read," Arya said. "I wouldn't learn with books that didn't interest me."

Tyrion's mouth quirked. "Well, as it so happens, I have many books that should suit your interests. I pulled several volumes while preparing for the Battle of the Blackwater."

"Good. Bring me as many as you can carry," Arya said.

The reading helped. It kept her mind off of the pain of healing, and allowed her to drift away from the Red Keep, back to the battles of old. It was an age of heroes and dragons. A time that seemed rather like a fantasy to her now. How she would have loved to be a Targaryen princess, astride a dragon, wielding a valyrian steel sword. Who would dare to challenge her then?

At some point, Tyrion also brought her pen and paper, though not only for her leisure.

"My father wishes for you to write a letter to your brother," Tyrion said. "Assuring him that you are well."

"Of course he does," Arya said. "Would you like to dictate the exact words I should write?"

"No," Tyrion said. "Robb won't believe the letter if we do."

"Suppose I write the truth then? What will you do then?" Arya asked.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Do you want your brother to return to war, Lady Arya?"

Arya sighed, running her fingers over the paper. No. She did not want that. She did not want any more northmen to die because of her. "I'll write the letter."

It took her the next hour to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. By the end she had penned a letter that Tyrion deemed suitable enough.

 _Dear Robb,_

 _Lord Tywin insists that I write to assure you that I am not dead, which I suppose you have already guessed, considering that this is my hand writing. I hope this reaches you and that the Greyjoys are not giving you too much trouble. Please write when Bran and Rickon are safe and Winterfell retaken. Tell mother and Sansa that I miss them. I miss you all._

 _Until we meet again,_

 _Arya Stark_

She was reminded of the vast space between her and Winterfell as she wrote the letter and it nearly reduced her to tears. She held them back. Crying only made the pain worse, and she did not want any Lannister to see her tears. Not even Tyrion.

As her condition improved, she took more walks, though always accompanied by her new Lannister guards. They did not speak to her and she did not speak to them. She went out to the gardens for fresh air, and to spot some of the damn flowers she spent too much time reading about. It was not the same as practicing with needle and she missed the solitude, but at least she felt alive once again.

It was on the way back from one of her walks that she crossed paths again with Jaime Lannister. In fact, she very nearly collided with him when she turned a corner.

"My apologies, Lady Stark," Jaime looked her over. "You're up and about again."

"I... yes," Arya said. "Grand Maester Pycelle says there should be no lasting damage."

"That's good to hear. Fortunate that they broke your right arm instead of your left. It shouldn't affect your...practice near as much."

"Funny enough I haven't gotten much time to practice." Arya glanced meaningfully at her two guards.

Jaime's mouth twitched. "No I suppose not." He gave her a nod. "Perhaps when you're fully recovered. Excuse me."

He circled past her to continue on his way. She cursed herself twice before turning around to call after him. "Ser Jaime?"

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. "Yes, Lady Arya?"

"Thank you," Arya said. "For your help. It's possible that I owe you my life."

"It's possible," Jaime agreed. "Think nothing of it. You do not owe me anything. Even if you did, there's nothing in the Stark words about paying debts." With that he turned and continued on his way. "I wish you a full recovery."

Arya exhaled. She did not want to owe the Lannisters anything. Not a single one of them. Lannisters collected on debts as much as they paid them. Even if Jaime claimed that she did not owe him, she felt the debt.

 _I'll have to save his life one day,_ she thought. _Then perhaps I can call the debt paid._

* * *

Six months after her injury, when her ribs had long healed and her arm was finally freed of its sling, Tywin Lannister called her to the Tower of the Hand. He was writing letters, as usual. Arya had never known a lord to write quite as much as her captor. Usually they left that to the maesters.

He did not look up as she entered. He kept on scribbling, leaving her hovering in the center of the room. She made an effort to stand absolutely still. Tywin had a way of making people feel nervous in his presence, and though Arya was not immune to it, she did not want to admit weakness by fidgeting. She imagined she was completing one of Syrio's exercises.

 _Stand absolutely still for as long as you can. This brings focus. Calm. If you cannot be calm in the stillness-in the silence-then your weakness will be more obvious._

At last, Lord Tywin looked up. "I see your injuries have healed."

"I would not have been able to climb the stairs if they weren't, my lord," Arya said.

"No. Likely not." Tywin glanced at her guards. "Leave us."

They both nodded, silent as ever, and left the room. She exhaled. "Are they really necessary?"

"I'd think your past several months of recovery would make that answer obvious," Tywin said. "They're for your protection."

"I don't feel protected. I feel watched," Arya said. "With them always around I can't..." She stopped herself. "Move...as freely."

"You mean you can't practice with your sword which you stole back from me," Tywin said, almost casually.

Arya paled. "I...what?"

"You are aware that I keep a close watch on you even without the guards, yes?" Tywin set down his quill.

"How long have you known?"

"A long time."

His expression was unreadable, and she could not tell exactly how angry he was about her retaking her sword. She raised her chin, pressing her closed fist against her thigh. "I'm not sorry. I only took back what is mine. And it's not as if I've hurt anyone with it."

Tywin regarded her for a long moment. "You're nervous."

It was a statement, not a question. Arya swallowed hard. "I'm not."

"You are. You always lift your chin like that when you're nervous," Tywin said. "You ought to correct that or soon everyone will be able to tell."

Arya lowered her chin, looking straight at him.

"Good," Tywin said. "If I was worried about you and your sword, I would have done something about it a long time ago. If you wish to play with that toy, your guards will not stop you. That's not why I called you here today."

Arya's shoulders relaxed. "Then why did you call me here?"

Tywin indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

Arya obeyed, taking a seat. She sat on her hands, but made an effort not to lift her chin again. Nerves still buzzed through her body. What _had_ Tywin called her here for?

"Your brother replied to your letter." Tywin tossed a letter on the desk. "I thought you might want to read."

Arya eyed the letter cautiously. "Good news or bad?"

"I'll let you decide for yourself," Tywin said.

Slowly, Arya took the letter from the desk. The seal was broken of course. Tywin would not let her read anything that he had not already read himself. She took a deep breath and read.

 _Arya,_

 _I am glad to hear you are well. We think of you every day. I write this from the halls of Winterfell. The siege is at its end. The battle was not without its costs, but Bran and Rickon are safe. We are home._

 _The rebellion is not over and will not be over until the Greyjoys surrender. But it should please you to know that all of our siblings are no longer in danger._

 _I hope that you will stay out of trouble as well. As best you can._

 _-Robb_

Arya covered her mouth to hold back a gasp of relief. Bran and Rickon were okay. Winterfell belonged to the Starks again. It was perhaps the best news she had heard in a very long time. War or not, for now, everyone was safe.

She composed herself again and placed the letter back on the desk. "You could have told me it was good news."

"I could have," Tywin agreed. "It seems your brother continues to succeed on the battlefield. His handling of the Greyjoys makes things much easier for us."

"Does that mean you will protect him when he bends the knee to Joffrey?" Arya asked.

"I gain nothing from your brother's death at this time," Tywin said. "I could lose a great deal if Joffrey kills him. Your brother will leave King's Landing alive."

"You're sure you can control Joffrey?" Arya asked.

"I controlled the Mad King for a time. I can control Joffrey," Tywin said.

"For a time?" Arya asked. "So when did he get to be too much for you?"

Tywin regarded her for a long moment. There was a coldness in his eyes. A warning. She knew when she had pressed too far, but she did not lift her chin this time. She kept her gaze steady.

 _I will not be afraid. I am a wolf. I have no need to fear him._

"You may leave," Tywin said flatly after what seemed like an eternal silence. "I have nothing more to discuss with you today."

Arya inclined her head. "My lord."

Lord Tywin would allow many things from her that most captors would not. He allowed her to speak freely and he allowed her to practice swordplay. But he never allowed her to question his strength. He did not show his weakness, not just to Arya, but anybody.

But she was beginning to learn his tells too, just as he had learned hers. One day, she just might be able to use that against him.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Arya should major in pushing Tywin's buttons. She's quite good at it. Next time ANOTHER familiar face will return to the fic. It's someone you guys have been asking about for awhile. Until then, review, subscribe, etc. Happy reading!**_


	12. Chapter 12: A New Lesson

_**A/N: Welcome back! Thanks one and all for your guesses on which character is returning. Without further ado, lets see who it is!**_

 **Chapter 12: A New Lesson**

Two good things came from that meeting with Tywin. For one thing, Arya could breathe a sigh of relief about the wellbeing of her family. Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon. Her mother. They were all safe for now, and that was all she could ask for. For a time after her father lost his head, it seemed all the Starks might be killed, one way or another. But they had endured.

In addition to that, Tywin did not intend to take away her sword again. She supposed as long as she kept it tucked in that room, he wouldn't see it as a problem. She couldn't use it on anyone important if it was hidden in the walls. So, fully healed, she returned to that room and asked her guards to stay outside the door. Needle was exactly where she left it and she was relieved to feel its hilt in her hand again.

 _It won't cut a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're quick enough._

Arya adjusted her hold, making sure her grip was delicate. Then she began to practice once again.

Several months of bed rest had made her weaker, and she was determined to close that gap as quickly as possible. She practiced every day, sometimes for hours, with a new sort of determination. Next time, she would not be caught off guard by Joffrey's men. Next time she was determined to fight them.

She could not take needle with her outside of this room. She doubted Tywin would allow her to carry a sword openly. But if they did come at her again, she could dodge them. Avoid them. Or perhaps take a weapon from one of her new guards.

Whatever the case, she would be prepared.

As she practiced, she whispered her list under her breath.

 _Cersei Lannister_

 _Joffrey Baratheon_

 _Tywin Lannister_

 _Illyn Payne_

 _Polliver_

 _The Mountain_

 _The Hound_

Merryn Trant was no longer on her list, and she was debating the place of some others. She had no idea where to find Polliver or the Mountain. She thought she might be able to find the Hound, but apparently he had deserted the king during the Battle of the Blackwater. She had casually asked Tyrion about it and he told her the story.

"The last thing he said to me was 'fuck the king'," Tyrion said. "Which I suppose I could understand."

It was a funny thought. It almost made Arya consider taking him off her list, until she remembered Micah.

Joffrey, Cersei and Tywin were in the capitol of course, but each was as un-killable as the last. The whole keep would know if she tried to kill Joffrey. Cersei was far too suspicious of her already. And Tywin...sometimes she wasn't even sure if he _could_ die.

 _Anyone can be killed,_ she reminded herself. But she could not kill him. He was the only one who would bother protecting Robb when he came to the capitol. He was her captor, but he stood between her family and the king.

Really, the list was more a fantasy for Arya. She could not kill anyone without Tywin knowing about it. She could not rebel or she might jeopardize the wellbeing of her family. But she did think about it sometimes, to keep her sane. She imagined destroying her enemies and rising above them all.

It made her feel less weak. Less helpless.

One day as she practiced, she felt a presence behind her. She did not hear footsteps, or hear anyone at all. But her skin prickled at the feeling of being watched.

She spun toward the balcony and saw a familiar man standing there, watching her with an amused smirk.

"A girl is practicing."

"Jaqen," Arya breathed. She shot a glance at the closed door, worried the guards might burst through. "You're here."

"I am," Jaqen H'gar said. "A man came to the capitol at the behest of the many faced god. A girl came against her will. And here we both are."

Arya stepped cautiously up to the balcony. "You came to find me?"

"Of course. A girl saved three lives and gave a man only two to take away. She has a third name to give."

Arya had nearly forgotten. After Tywin discovered her true name, everything had changed so quickly. Harrenhal seemed like a lifetime ago. But now she was owed one more name. She could name absolutely anyone in the world.

She could name someone from her list.

Arya look up at Jaqen. "I can name anyone? No matter what?"

"Give the man a name and that name will die," Jaqen said. "Any name. There is no limit."

It would be that easy. She had seen Jaqen kill before. He wasn't lying. One word from her and an enemy would die.

But who? Joffrey seemed an obvious choice, but if she gave his name so soon after he nearly killed her, she would be a suspect. Cersei was just as dangerous as Joffrey and maybe safer to kill. Lord Tywin...she could not kill him yet or she might doom Robb. Who did she choose?

"How long will you be in the capitol?" Arya asked.

"For a time," Jaqen said. "There is always much work to be done here."

"Then may I have time to think?" Arya asked. "There are several names I could give. I don't know which one yet."

Jaqen inclined his head. "When a girl wishes to find me again, she will find me here on this balcony."

"How will you know to come?" Arya asked.

Jaqen smiled mysteriously. "A man will know."

"You know a lot," Arya said. "I've never seen anyone kill so easily. I'd like to do the same someday"

"A girl could learn...if she came with me to Bravvos after my work here is done," Jaqen said. "A girl could learn many things there."

It was an enticing offer. If Arya could learn to kill from Jaquen then no one on her list would be safe. But then again...Bravvos was a long way from home. She did not want to put her family in danger by fleeing.

"I have to stay," Arya said. "For my family's sake."

Jaqen nodded once. "If that is a girl's choice, so be it."

"But you could teach me a small thing here," Arya said. "Just one trick."

Jaqen's mouth quirked. "And why would a man do that?"

"Because this is a dangerous place for me. I've already almost been killed once," Arya said. "If I die, I cannot give you a third name."

"You could become the third name," Jaqen pointed out.

Arya crossed her arms. "That wasn't the deal."

Jaqen inclined his head. "No. It was not." He thought for a moment, then drew a knife from his belt. It was smaller than a dagger and had a very thin hilt. He took her hand in his, pressing the hilt into her left hand. Arya watched as he maneuvered her fingers into a particular hold. Then he stepped back and nodded at the wall.

"A girl can do the rest."

Arya stared at the wall for a moment, confused. "What do you mean I-" She turned to look back for Jaqen but he had already gone.

Arya cursed twice under her breath. Of course he wouldn't really teach her. What did he want her to practice? Stabbing? Slashing?

She looked at the wall, trying to find the answer. Then she noticed the stack of wooden crates. That's what he had indicated. She glanced down at the knife in her hand, then back to the crates.

She shifted her right foot back slightly, squared her shoulders, and then threw. The knife stuck in the tallest crate with a quiver.

Arya grinned. She could not carry Needle with her but she could carry a knife up her sleeve with little trouble. If she could master the throw, then she could kill an enemy at a distance. Even the helmets of King's guard had gaps for a thin blade like this.

Arya moved forward and pried her new knife from the crates. Then she returned to her original place, adjusted her grip, and threw again. It struck the wood far to the left of her first mark. She retrieved the blade and tried again. And again. And again.

By the end of the afternoon, the crates were full of holes.

* * *

Jaime had only just returned from war, when his father bid him leave for it again. The Starks were dealing with the Greyjoy rebellion, the Tyrell's had been brought to heel with Margaery's engagement to Joffrey, and Stannis' army was crushed at the Battle of Blackwater. But Robert's younger brother was still a problem. Some of his forces had survived and as long as Stannis himself lived, he would be the greatest threat to Joffrey's throne. Technically speaking he _was_ the true heir.

But to admit that would be to admit Joffrey's true parentage and that would not bode well for Jaime, Cersei or any of their children.

So Tywin had instructed Jaime to deal with the issue. He had not intentions of leaving one of the five kings to wander around until he could regain his armies. Stannis was one man he could never bargain into submission. He had to go.

It wouldn't take many men. Dragonstone would be well fortified but not well guarded. So many soldiers had died in the Battle of Blackwater, and many more had scattered in the aftermath, abandoning Stannis for greener pastures. They had no fleet. They had no hope of winning.

At Dragonstone, Stannis would make his last stand, and the last of the five kings would be dealt with.

Along with the orders, his father gifted Jaime with a sword-one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. In fact, it looked like valyrian steel, but it couldn't possibly be. These weapons were rare and only a fool would sell one.

"It was reworked," Tywin said. "There are a few smiths who know how to reforge valyrian steel. The original weapon was quite large, so he reworked it into two blades."

"The original weapon?" Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"Ned Stark's sword," Tywin said. "That one goes to you. If Joffrey learns an ounce of patience and wisdom, the other will go to him on his wedding day."

"Don't tell Arya Stark that," Jaime said.

"I did not plan on it," Tywin said. "I expect this sword will help you to put down Stannis?"

"If he's fool enough to fight me himself, yes," Jaime said. "Thank you. Truly. It's beautiful."

"You're my son," Tywin said. "Such a weapon befits the Lannister name."

On one hand, Jaime had only just returned to King's Landing and wasn't anxious to leave again. On the other hand, he knew fighting and war _far_ better than politics. Between Cersei, Joffrey and his father, he was beginning to lose his fucking mind.

Cersei was the most difficult to deal with. When he returned to the capitol, he expected her to be happy to see him. She was...perhaps. But there was something changed about her. She was wilder and colder at the same time. She seemed to resent him for his imprisonment. Maybe he should not have taken it personally. She resented everyone for something these days. And he got to hear it all.

"What does it matter if Joffrey damaged the Stark girl a bit?" she snapped one morning. "You were there to make sure it did not go too far."

"I almost wasn't there," Jaime reminded her. "It was lucky I kept him from killing her."

"Father was mad to make peace with the north anyway," Cersei stalked to her table and took a long sip from her wine. She drank more than ever now. Why were both of his siblings so attached to wine lately? "I think age might be softening him."

"I doubt that," Jaime said. "He's not exactly being soft on the Greyjoys or on Stannis Baratheon. And speaking of Stannis Baratheon, I'm leaving _today_ to deal with him. Must we talk about Father's deal with the north again?"

"You were with him when he made the deal. You should have said something," Cersei muttered.

"I've never been able to change father's mind about anything," Jaime said.

"Perhaps I could have then."

" _You've_ never been able to change father's mind about anything. What are you talking about?"

"I would...if I was born in a man's body I would be taken as seriously as you." Cersei glared at him over her shoulder.

Jaime exhaled moving toward her with careful steps. "Cersei...please. Why are we talking about this?" He reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder but she stepped out of his reach.

"What do you expect from me? A tearful goodbye? Sweet words of farewell?"

Jaime dropped his hand, feeling frustration burn through him. "Is that so much to ask?"

"You were gone for over a _year_ ," Cersei said. "You can't expect everything to be the same now that you've returned."

"Do you think I wanted to be gone? Do you think I was running around the countryside for the fun of it?" Jaime asked. "I was a hostage. I was in a _cage_."

"It doesn't matter what you wanted. You _were_ gone," Cersei said. "Stannis' men nearly took the castle. They would have killed me and both your sons. Do you care nothing of that?"

"Of course I care about that," Jaime snapped. "And if Stannis won the battle, my sword would not have been enough to save you." He ran a hand through his hair. "Anyway, he didn't win. We destroyed his army. Everything is fine."

"Everything is not fine. It's not as simple as that," Cersei whirled to face him. "Now Joffrey is engaged to that Tyrell whore. All of our enemies are allowed to bend the knee. We are weakening. Everything will be taken from us before we know it."

Jaime exhaled. This much wine made Cersei paranoid and almost intolerable. "Not all of our enemies. Renly is dead. Balon will be soon. So will Stannis. I'm leaving to deal with him now."

"So what?" Cersei asked.

"So that's not _all_ of our enemies, is it?"

She turned away from him again, gripping her wine.

"You fear the Starks too much, sister," Jaime said.

"You don't fear them enough," Cersei said. "Ned Stark _knew_ about us Jaime. He would have told Robert if Robert hadn't been killed by that wild boar."

"But he didn't. Ned Stark is dead," Jaime said. "His son may know, but who cares? To spread that secret would mean the death of his sister and the ruin of his house. He's not going to step out of line." He took a step toward her. "I was a prisoner of the Starks for a long time. Robb Stark and his mother are both dangerous. They're forces to be reckoned with. But they are _not_ more dangerous than father."

"And the Stark girl?" Cersei asked.

Jaime almost laughed. "She's...what...fourteen at the most? The way you talk about her, you'd think she was a trained assassin. Father has a close watch on her and she won't act out because she fears for her family. _What_ is she going to do?"

"Now? Nothing," Cersei said. "But someday, she could be a danger."

"You always focus so much on somedays. Someday we'll all be dead and none of it will matter. Who _cares_ about some day?" Jaime reached for her again, but again she backed away.

"You should go," she said. There was nothing but coldness in her green eyes. "You have another king to slay."

Jaime clenched his jaw and bit down a retort to that comment. Then he turned to go. Years of war had changed Cersei in ways he could not begin to understand. But he knew her feelings were not changed toward him. They must be...hidden beneath fear and paranoia.

When true peace came, perhaps everything would return to normal. But this time there would be no Robert.

This time it could be just...them. As it was always meant to be.

* * *

On the day Jaime left, he said farewell to the people who mattered. His father reminded him to do his duty and crush Stannis Baratheon once and for all. Tyrion bid him to return soon, since he was the only member of the family he could stand. Tommen cheerfully wished him luck in the battle to come, which Jaime accepted though he had no faith in luck. Cersei did not bid him anything at all. She was fixed in sullen silence as she watched him go.

As he mounted his horse, he caught sight of Arya Stark passing above, her two Lannister guards flanking her. She noticed him and stopped to look. He truly could not see what Cersei feared so much about her. She was a girl playing at being a knight. She had some skill with a blade but she would never be able to truly wield one in a battle.

She was not an assassin. She was not a spy. She was a hostage to his father.

 _Until we meet again Arya Stark,_ he thought as he gave her a nod.

She stared straight back at him, her expression fixed and cold. And for a moment, he did see a flash of wolf in her.

He shook his head and urged his horse forward. The wolf could not judge the lion. Especially not a wolf small as her.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So, obviously it was Jaqen. Yay. Arya isn't going to Bravos in this particular fic, but our favorite assassin can't go before she gives him that third name! To those who guessed Tommen and Margaery, they will be coming into this fic relatively soon (in the next few chapters I think). I appreciate everyone offering their different opinions on where I am going to take this story. And of course I always love your feedback! Review, subscribe etc. See you next time!  
**_


	13. Chapter 13: Fragile Things

_**A/N: Happy Monday! Thanks so much for all of the reviews over the past few days :) It really encourages me to keep on going. Today, Arya comes into contact with another new character. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 13: Fragile Things**

Arya felt safer with a knife up her sleeve. Next time she was attacked, she could not count on Jaime Lannister to save her. On one hand, he had gone with the Lannister and Tyrell forces to deal with Stannis Baratheon and could be gone for months. On another hand, she did not want to owe the man any more debts.

She practiced throwing the knife until she had nearly destroyed the crates. But after several days of practice, she could hit her target almost every single time.

She was hyper-aware of the cool steel pressed against her forearm, but she never dared take the knife out when she was around other people. Everyone in the capitol had eyes behind every bush. Occasionally, she practiced throwing small sticks in the garden to see if she could stick the twig in some lady's elaborate hair. Half of the time she succeeded.

Her guards never chided her or spoke to her at all. No matter what strange thing she did, they did not speak. She had no doubt they reported to Lord Tywin, but she appreciated their silence. It made them easier to ignore.

It was far harder to ignore the attention of the courts. Everyone had eyes on her, the ward of House Lannister, the daughter of a traitor. When she walked in the gardens, their whispers followed her. Their gazes bore holes into her head. Sometimes she turned sharply around and caught people diverting their eyes.

 _It doesn't matter what they think. I am a wolf_ , Arya thought. _A wolf in a cage but a wolf none the less._

She did not make conversation with any of them. She did not want to anyhow. She had never been good at holding conversations with most nobles. They thought her too wild or blunt or unladylike. She found places in the garden where less people traveled. The hedge maze near the sea was a particular favorite spot of hers. It was tucked away from everything else, offering much needed isolation.

Or so she thought. She did not at all expect to see the young prince walking amongst the hedges one cool autumn morning.

"Lady Arya." Prince Tommen noticed her and smiled. "Do you come to the maze often too?"

"Sometimes." Arya hid her latest stick behind her back. Her gaze flicked to the King's Guard at Tommen's side. It was not one of the ones who injured her, but she did not trust him. "It's quiet here."

"The maze is fun too." Tommen stepped toward her. He looked like his brother, but his face was shockingly kinder. His smile was genuine. "I've been through here many times, but I still occasionally get lost."

Arya nodded once. She should not be here. Cersei had warned her to stay away from her children and Cersei did not need any more reason to hate her.

"Is something wrong, Lady Arya?" Tommen asked. He tilted his head to the side. "Do you wish to be alone? I'm sorry if I interrupted you."

"It's not that," Arya said. "I mean I do wish...No, you didn't interrupt me, my prince. I'm just not sure what your mother would think of you talking with the daughter of a traitor."

"Well you're the Lannister ward now, aren't you?" Tommen asked. "I'm sure mother won't mind."

"She will," Arya said. "She doesn't like me. Neither does your brother. I mean...the king."

"I heard that you were badly injured because my brother. I apologize for that." Tommen gave her a little bow. Arya almost laughed. How did _this_ boy come from Cersei? And how had he not absorbed any of Joffrey's cruelty? "What were you doing with that stick?"

Arya clasped her hands tighter behind her back. "What stick?"

"The one behind your back."

Arya dropped the stick. "There's nothing behind my back."

"Because you dropped it." Tommen took a step forward. "Come on. What were you doing?"

Arya sighed. "Just... a few tricks really. Simple tricks."

"What's the point?" Tommen said.

"Self-defense."

"You can defend yourself with a stick?"

"No. Usually it would be a knife." Arya winced as she said it. She did _not_ need Tommen running back to his mother to say he found her practicing knife tricks. "But...only if absolutely necessary of course. A lady should be able to defend herself if...if someone else isn't there."

"Oh." Tommen nodded. "It's because you were attacked. You're afraid to be attacked again."

Arya let out a breath. "Yes. Yes that's it."

"I suppose that makes sense," Tommen said. "Though you have two Lannister guards to protect you. I don't think you have anything to fear, my lady."

"It never hurts to be careful," Arya said through a forced smile.

If Tommen sensed her discomfort he didn't show it. His expression was so open. Like a puppy. Yes, that was what Tommen reminded her of. A happy little puppy who had never known any horrors in his whole life. He was the same age as her little brother Bran, and Bran had already lost the use of his legs and been held hostage by the Greyjoys. Tommen had never been in danger once.

Looking at his face, she could not resent him for it. She wished she could wash the blood and death from her memory.

"Will you show me?" Tommen asked. "A few tricks?"

Arya glanced again at his King's Guard. The man would undoubtedly report to the Queen Regent. Would it be better to refuse a prince's offer or show him his she played with knives?

 _This is why I don't like speaking to people here,_ Arya thought. _There's no winning._

"Please," Tommen said. "Perhaps I will need to defend myself too."

"You are always well defended, my prince," Arya said.

"So are you," Tommen pointed out.

Arya sighed and picked up her stick again, holding it her hand. "You see: if you keep a relaxed grip like this, it's easier to change your grip when you have to." She demonstrated, twirling the stick between her fingers with practiced ease. "Like this."

Tommen's eyes widened. "Oh, you're good. It looks so easy." He picked up a stick and tried to imitate her but it quickly slipped through his fingers. "It's not though, is it?"

"No. It takes practice," Arya said. "And it all depends on the size and weight of the knife. But it helps to keep your fingers nimble."

Tommen tried to mimic her again, his brow furrowed. Once again, the stick slipped from his fingers.

"Your grip is too tight," Arya said.

"But shouldn't that keep the stick from falling?" Tommen asked.

"No," Arya said. "The knife can't move well when you do that."

"Oh." Tommen looked up at her. "You sound like you know a lot about knives. I thought girls weren't supposed to be fighters."

Arya felt an age old defensiveness rise up from within her. "That's nonsense. There have been plenty of women warriors. Targaryen women road dragons. Aegon's sister Visenya...she wielded a sword called Dark Sister. She was a fearsome fighter."

"I suppose we did learn about her in my lessons," Tommen said. "I just don't see many women fighting now." He clasped his arms behind his back. "Would you be a warrior someday, Lady Arya?"

"Maybe," Arya said, though she knew the true answer. _I already am a warrior. I will be a great one someday. I will see all of my enemies bleed._

But Tommen was not one of those enemies. He was a boy with a rather unfortunate brother and mother. He did not seem to inherit any of their malice over his years. Talking to him, Arya missed Bran and Rickon, who used to follow her around all day asking questions.

"Would you like to wander the maze with me, Lady Arya?" Tommen asked. "I think it would be fun."

 _Stay away from my children,_ Cersei had said. But Arya was feeling rather spiteful that morning.

"I would like that, Prince Tommen," Arya replied.

* * *

Dragonstone was an impressive castle, notoriously impregnable simply because it was on an island. It could only be attacked from the sea and the sight of the approaching fleet would give the soldiers inside plenty of time to prepare for the assault. The Targaryens did know how to build castles, and this one was no different. A small force could hold it against a _much_ larger army. The most patient option would be to wait and starve them out.

But after a year as a hostage and several months after that of being treated like a failure, Jaime did not care about the patient options. He did not care about the honorable options either. He would take Dragonstone within the fortnight.

The key was to spread Stannis' remaining forces thin along the walls and leave other areas unguarded. Jaime had Lannister and Tyrell ships at his disposal. He sent the Tyrells around to approach from the South and left his Lannister fleet to approach from the north. That left the East and Western sides of the castle very sparsely defended.

They approached as if they meant to starve them out. They posted just off of the shore and waited, cutting off all movement in and out. And while they created the illusion of a siege, Jaime began sending small groups of soldiers to climb the walls in the middle of the night.

They circled the castle under cover of darkness, looking for the places not watched. The first few groups did not come back alive. But the fourth group succeeded and hid inside the castle walls, taking up the uniforms of the unlucky soldiers they found first. Jaime got their signal when they split the sky with a fiery arrow.

The men inside set off several explosions near the back gate, leaving the main gate less guarded for a brief enough time to give the Lannister forces a head start. They bashed through the entrance, climbed the walls, killed as many men as they could get their hands on.

When the gate fell, Jaime was one of the first few through it. Killing Stannis' men helped clear his head. They were all weak from the Battle of the Blackwater and in no shape for a fight. But still they fought for their "one true king".

An arrow took Jaime's horse and he ended up on foot, cutting through every man who came at him. Men were such fragile things, even in armor. Victory would be clear and absolute. Now that Lannister men had invaded the city, none of Stannis' forces would survive. Not unless they surrendered.

Jaime let every ounce of his pent up anger guide him. All around, men were dying. More men than necessary if they had just starved the place. Fuck them all. Cersei wanted him to be there to kill Stannis at the Battle of Blackwater? Well he would do it here and then maybe she would be satisfied. Maybe _someone_ would finally be satisfied with his damn efforts.

A force knocked into him from the side and sent him to the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of him. A soldier stood above him, raising his great sword. Jaime threw himself to the side as he did. He lost his sword on the way. He scrambled for it and found it grasped in a hand. A severed hand.

Jaime blinked dumbly at the sight. His gaze went from his sword, to the hand, to his own wrist, spewing blood. Only now, as he looked at the wound, did he register the pain.

His sword.

His hand.

 _Men are such fragile things,_ he thought again in the daze of his shock.

" _Lannister_." One of his soldiers grabbed Jaime and hauled him to his feet. Jaime recognized his voice. It was Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. His brother had sent him along to help with the fight. "Get back. You need to get back."

"My sword," Jaime muttered.

"Fuck your sword," Bronn hissed. "Get back."

"My _sword!"_ Jaime roared, grasping at air with a hand that no longer existed.

All around him rang the screams of dying men and the night was filled with the stench of blood.

* * *

In the end, they took Dragonstone. They put every soldier who did not surrender to the sword. They imprisoned the others. Stannis fell in battle, ending his quest for the throne. His daughter had escaped the castle somehow. Perhaps someone had smuggled her away in the chaos. But a child with greyscale on her face was not a real threat. Stannis was what mattered, and he was dead.

But for Jaime it did not feel like a victory. It felt like one more awful mistake. This one had cost him worse than all of the others.

Men were such fragile things.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Haha. Thought Jaime was going to get out of this with both his hands? NOPE! Let's see how this effects his character going forward, shall we?**_

 _ **Review, subscribe etc. and I'll see you next time!**_


	14. Chapter 14: A Woman's Power

_**A/N: We're on a path of new character interactions so Arya meets yet ANOTHER person in this chapter! Also, a conversation with Tywin, cause it's been awhile since we've gotten one of those and they are my favorite :) Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 14: A Woman's Power**

The role of the Hand of the King was to balance seven kingdoms on the edge of a knife. One of the regions was always threatening to tip over the side and fall into chaos. Years ago, when Tywin was named the Hand to Aerys Targaryen, he had managed that chaos well enough. But then Aerys began to fall to jealousy and madness. He didn't like that his subjects considered Tywin the true ruler. So he spitefully refused to engage Rhaegar to Cersei, and he spitefully named Jaime to the King's Guard, relieving Tywin of his oldest son and heir. After that, Tywin left the Capitol and his post as Hand of the King.

Effectively, he proved that he _was_ the true ruler of Westeros without ever saying a word. Shortly after he left, the realms descended into chaos. Ned Stark, Robert Baratheon and all of their allies rose up in open rebellion. And Tywin waited and watched, ignoring Aerys call for him to take up arms. Then, when Robert's victory was clear, Tywin decisively ended the war by sacking King's landing.

He did terrible things to ensure Robert's total victory and to prove his loyalty to the new crown. He did the dirty work so that Robert could play the hero. And then he offered up his daughter for marriage: an alliance to secure his family in this new age.

Tywin had a dark reputation as a man without any honor. But he did know how to bring about peace in the seven kingdoms. The most effective tools were wisdom, violence and marriage. He aligned the Lannisters and the Baratheons with Cersei and Robert's marriage. Now both of those houses would be linked to the Tyrells through Margaery and Joffrey's wedding. It was not a guarantee of peace, but it did help considerably.

So now he faced the question of what to do with Arya Stark.

As the second daughter of house Stark, she was a valuable hostage but she could also bind the Starks to the crown. In light of the current peace, there was no need to rush an engagement. She was still a child. But if the North ever did rise up again, her sons would be potential heirs to Winterfell.

Arya Stark would not enter willingly into _any_ engagement. It had been over a year since Tywin had first met her, and he could easily tell that by now even though marriage had never been discussed. But he could at least find her a match she could tolerate.

Tommen was a possibility. He was around her age, and not yet promised to anyone. Once Stannis was dealt with and Tommen came of age, he would inherit Storm's End. It was a better match than most second daughters could hope for, especially the daughter of a recently rebelling family.

Not that Arya Stark would care about whether or not it was a "good" match. But at the very least, she seemed to like Tommen well enough to hold a conversation with him. Or so her guards had reported.

Cersei would be absolutely furious at the notion. Her rage would cause a headache for all involved and she might try to have the Stark girl killed. That was the main problem.

Tywin could bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms several times over. But sometimes managing his family was the most difficult task of all.

For now, he would not tell Cersei. Better to wait for that. But he did call Arya Stark to the next morning to inform her.

"I...you want to betroth me to Tommen?" She looked absolutely shocked by this idea. Tywin wondered if she had been willfully ignoring the possibility of marriage for as long as possible.

"I'm not certain yet," Tywin said. "It would tie the Starks to the Baratheons. It's as good a match as you can hope for."

"I haven't hoped for _any_ match," Arya said. "I don't want to marry."

"I suppose you hoped to remain unwed for your whole life then?" Tywin raised an eyebrow.

" _Yes_ ," she said. "What's so strange about that?"

"It's not strange to hope. But it is impossible for a lady from your family," Tywin said. "You're my ward, which means it falls to me to make a match for you."

Arya's expression was sullen, like a child's. But then, she still _was_ a child who would not come of age for another few years. She still had childish notions about the future.

"I suppose I am a hostage. I should have expected you to use me to make connections," Arya said flatly.

Tywin's mouth twitched, amused. "It's not because you're a hostage. It's because you're a lady. Your father would have forced you into a match too. To some northern lord maybe. That's what all fathers do for their daughters. They find them husbands."

Arya glared up at him. "My father knew I did not want to marry."

"I'm sure your whole family knew. But then, that didn't keep your brother and mother from bargaining you away to the Freys for a bridge, did it?" Tywin asked.

Arya stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"When your brother needed to cross the bridge at the Twins, he sent your mother to barter for passage," Tywin said. "Walder Frey wanted to marry you to one of his sons. Your mother agreed. Your brother accepted."

She looked stricken by this news. "For...a bridge?"

"It was an important bridge," Tywin said. "That's how the world works, Lady Arya. Now, I suppose I could let Walder Frey's son have you. But I didn't make that promise, your brother did, and Walder Frey is useless to me at this point in time. Binding the Starks to the crown's family? That's very useful."

"And I don't get any say," Arya muttered. "Not with you and not with my family."

"No," Tywin agreed.

"That doesn't seem fair."

"The world isn't fair."

"That's what people _always_ say when they don't want to bother changing things." Arya glared up at him. Her tongue was still sharp as steel.

"You can argue if you want," Tywin said. "You can argue until your lungs give out. But unless you can make a reasonable case, it won't matter. It didn't matter with my children either."

"I'm not your _child_ I'm your _ward_ ," Arya retorted.

"Then you should expect even less sympathy," Tywin said flatly. "This discussion is at its end."

Arya started to raise her chin, like she usually did, but corrected herself at the last minute. She was learning. Even as she argued and protested, she was learning. Instead, she held his gaze in the silence before she turned and left.

Tywin exhaled. _And she was the easy one to tell._

He did not want to even think of Cersei's response to this news.

* * *

The next morning, Arya sat in the garden plucking petals off of flowers. She did not know why. The flowers had not done anything to her. Being born a _woman_ had done this to her.

When she was a child and she first learned that girls and boys were treated differently, she had prayed to the gods to turn her into a boy so that she could become a knight. When she found out the gods did not answer such prayers, she resolved that she would be a warrior _despite_ her gender.

But always the expectations of a lady hovered behind her. Her father promised one day she would marry the lord of a holdfast and have _children_ who were warriors. Her mother reminded her that she must dress like a lady. Her sister stood beside her as a constant reminder of everything Arya was not.

When Yoren cut her hair, Arya felt almost freed. She didn't mind pretending to be a boy. No one told her to act more like a lady when she was pretending to be a boy. Most men were stupid enough to believe the trick. In boys' clothes with boys' hair, Arya might as well have been a boy. Until...

" _You'll do no such thing. This one's a girl, you idiot."_

Tywin Lannister had seen through the disguise. Then he discovered her name and she once again became a lady, expected one day to marry. Over the past year, her hair had grown back to her shoulders. Soon it might go all the way down to her waist. Shae liked the growing length, but Arya wished she could cut it all off again. She loathed being a woman at that moment. Even if she wasn't a hostage, she would not be free.

"Pardon me, Lady Arya."

Arya looked up in surprise to see Margaery Tyrell standing before her. She had seen her around the court but had never expected to speak to her. She was Joffrey's betrothed after all, and Arya was only a hostage. Yet here the future queen stood.

"Lady Margaery." Arya stood and made a hasty attempt at a curtsy. "May I help you?"

"Not with anything especially important. I only wanted to speak to you. It has been some time since you came to court and we haven't spoken at all." Margaery smiled brightly. "How are you enjoying King's Landing?"

"Not very well," Arya said. "I'm a hostage and my father died here."

Arya cursed herself immediately. This was not the person to complain to. She could rush to tell Joffrey of any treasonous comments.

But if Margaery was offended she didn't show it. "It was a grave loss for you I'm sure. And I have heard my husband to be has not been fully hospitable to you since you arrived. I came to apologize for that."

"Why would you?" Arya asked suspiciously.

"Because that's the kind thing to do," Margaery said. "Will you walk with me?"

It was a question, but Arya knew better than to refuse a future queen's offer. She fell into step beside her, trying to look as dignified as possible.

"I hear a rumor we might be sisters soon," Margaery murmured.

"Has that rumor really already spread that far?" Arya asked.

"Well it's not official, of course, but everyone in the Capitol has ears and eyes," Margaery said. "They absorb everything."

"Then Cersei will have me killed by tonight." Arya sighed. "It's not as if I have a choice in all of this."

"What is your concern, Lady Arya?" Margaery asked. Arya still had not decided whether or not to trust the kindness of her expression. "Do you not wish to be married to Tommen?"

"I do not wish to be married," Arya said. "To anyone. Tommen is not the problem."

Margaery gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's the burden of a woman in this world, isn't it? We want power, but no one gives us power on our own." She rested a hand on Arya's arm. "We gain power through marriage and children. That is the game that has been set before us."

"And I have no choice but to play...Is that it?" Arya asked bitterly.

"There's no shame in that, is there?" Margaery said. "A woman can be strong even if she is married. You think your mother is strong, do you not?"

"Yes, of course," Arya said without thinking.

"I think my grandmother strong. I'm not sure I've ever known a stronger person in my life," Margaery said. "But they both married. Do you think less of them for that?"

"No," Arya said quietly.

Margaery smiled and continued walking down the path, drawing Arya along with her. "Have you read much history, my lady?"

"Yes. A lot," Arya said.

"You're familiar with the Targaryen conquest then?" Margaery asked. "Aegon and his sisters?"

"Obviously," Arya said. "Visenya was always a hero of mine."

"She was a great warrior," Margaery agreed. "What about Rhaenys?"

"I've read about her, of course," Arya said. "She was the prettier of the two. She loved music. But she didn't fight as much."

When she read about the Targaryen conquests, Rhaenys always reminded her of Sansa. The great beauty beloved by all. Arya could never have hoped to reach those heights.

"Yes, she didn't fight as often with her sword," Margaery said. "But she fought more than all of them with her dragon. They say she rode twice as often as both of her siblings combined. And yes, she was beautiful and graceful and everything a proper lady is taught to be. _But_ she is the one who established the Rule of Six which has protected women for centuries. The common people loved her. And her line went on to form the Great Targaryen dynasty. After she fell in battle, her brother and sister set Dorne ablaze for her. No one could say she was not just as strong as Visenya and Aegon."

Arya glanced down at her feet as they walked. "No. I suppose not."

Margaery stopped and turned to face Arya. "There are many ways for a woman to be strong, Lady Arya. In this world we must use _every_ tool at our disposal. One of those tools is marriage. Another is children. Marrying Tommen will not make you weaker. I promise."

Arya managed a small smile. "Maybe there are many ways for a woman to be strong. But I've never been good at most of them."

"You will learn. You're young," Margaery said. "I wasn't always as you see me now. I had a cousin who used to call me pig face you know."

"When I was young, people mistook me for a boy," Arya said. "They still might...if I cut my hair again."

"See? We have something in common you and I," Margaery laughed as they continued along the path. "And I think your hair is lovely. So thick and dark. You must try braiding it." If she was faking her kindness she was very good at it, and even Sansa could not compare with her manners and courtesies.

Margaery had to be strong if she could be engaged to Joffrey and still smile. She had to be strong if she was to be his queen. Arya could respect that but she did not want to rule. She did not want a holdfast or a dynasty. She wanted _freedom_.

For a woman, that seemed even more elusive than power.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I quite enjoyed writing both of the conversations in this chapter, especially the interaction with Margaery. Mostly because I like confronting some of Arya's internalized misogyny of thinking women can only be strong if they engage in masculine hobbies like fighting. Cause that's not fair or true! Also I like Margaery a lot lol. She's in my top ten favorite characters.  
**_

 _ **No Jaime this chapter, for those of you who are concerned about his well being, but he'll be back next chapter. Until then, review subscribe etc!**_


	15. Chapter 15: Thorns in the Garden

_**A/N: So...I told you Jaime would be back this chapter...and that was a lie. When I said that I TOTALLY forgot another major plot point that had to happen first. But he is discussed. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 15: Thorns in the Garden**

Letters from war could contain news of many different shades. When Varys delivered a letter from Bronn to Tyrion, he was not sure what to expect, but he did feel a flash of panic.

"Good news or bad?" he asked.

"The letter is unopened, my lord," Varys said.

"And when has that ever stopped you?" Tyrion gave him a look. "Good news or bad?"

Varys sighed. "Both, I'm afraid."

Tyrion nodded once and split the seal with his thumb. He read the contents as quickly as he could, only taking in a few of the words. Dragonstone had fallen. Stannis was dead. And Jaime...Jaime was alive but...

Tyrion crumpled the letter in his hand. "Fuck me. Why didn't the idiot just starve them out?"

"A question you'll have to ask Ser Jaime when he returns," Varys said.

"I don't think he'll want to talk about the battle when he returns, and I'm not cruel enough to bring it up. Fuck." Tyrion paced over to the window. "Father is going to be furious."

"And worried, perhaps, for his eldest son's wellbeing."

"He'll be furious _because_ he's worried," Tyrion said. "All emotions make my father angry because he doesn't like _feeling_ them. Don't you know that by now?"

"I do. Which is why I leave it to you to deliver the news," Varys said.

"You honor me," Tyrion murmured. Damn it all to hell. Jaime could have been patient and starved Stannis out with little trouble. But he had decided to play the daring knight again. The hero desperate to prove himself. In the process, he had lost more than ever.

Jaime was not Jaime without a sword. Without his right hand, how would he begin to wield one?

* * *

Tywin was in the middle of conversation with Cersei when Tyrion climbed the steps. He could hear her raging from a ways off. Lovely. That would put his father in a better mood.

"-engage that wolf bitch to _Tommen_? I will _never_ let that happen," Cersei snarled. "Marrying the Tyrell whore to Joffrey is bad enough, and now Arya Stark?"

"So you hate Margaery Tyrell now too," Tywin responded flatly. "Is there anyone in the seven kingdoms you don't loathe?"

"I love my children. That's enough."

"Then I suppose it will be difficult to find them any match that will meet your expectations."

So his father was plotting to marry Arya to Tommen. It could be a strategically smart match, but Cersei would never accept it. Not that her acceptance would matter to their father in the least. He never cared much for the personal feelings of his children.

Tyrion listened to the arguing for a few more seconds before he steeled himself and pushed through the door. "Oh, hello," he said, pretending to be surprised to see Cersei, as if the whole castle could not hear her for miles. "Am I interrupting something?"

"You are not. Cersei was leaving," Tywin said, returning to his desk. His jaw was tight. Not a good sign. Tyrion had learned to pick up the small tells in his father's expressions since his face almost never moved.

"I won't forget this." Cersei vowed. "And I'll stop it. I promise you."

"You can promise no such thing," Tywin said. "If I will it to happen, then it will happen."

Cersei gritted her teeth and stalked from the room.

"You must derive great pleasure from getting the last word," Tyrion commented.

"What do you want? I'm not in the mood for any of your games," Tywin said.

"Nor am I," Tyrion dropped a letter on his desk. "I received this today. It's news from Dragonstone."

"I received word from Dragonstone already. Stannis is dead and the day was won," Tywin said.

"That's not all of the news," Tyrion said. "Read."

Tywin studied him for a moment before he took the letter. Tyrion paced away from the desk so that he did not have to watch his father's face. He heard his anger well enough when he slammed the letter back down.

"That fool. He could have starved Stannis out of that damn place within six months if he was patient for once in his life. Why in the seven hells did he decide to take it? Did he learn nothing from Robb Stark?"

Tyrion didn't have an answer, and he knew better than to say something clever. Really, he just wanted a large cup of wine.

"Jaime crippled, Cersei drunk and half mad. And you..." Tywin trailed off. He had already listed his disappointments with Tyrion one hundred times over.

"And me," Tyrion agreed, turning around to face his father. "It's true. Cersei is as dependent on wine as Robert Baratheon once was. She grows more paranoid by the day for reasons none of us can really guess. And I know I'm an eternal disappointment to you no matter what." He exhaled "Don't give up on Jaime just yet. He only lost one hand. He has another."

"Jaime never wanted to learn anything he did not have a natural gift for," Tywin said. "The slightest frustration with reading and he folded. He only practiced so much with swords because he was a natural. It was easy for him. Now it's not."

"Jaime reads well enough now," Tyrion said. "You made him practice. He complained often about it even years after you stopped."

"I'm the Hand of a volatile king. I don't have _time_ to treat him like a child," Tywin said. "I don't have time to force any of you to take this family seriously. To put the Lannister name over your personal feelings and desires. But I will preserve this family name in spite of all of you."

"You against the world then, is it?" Tyrion gave him a bitter smirk and a bow. "I wish you the best of luck."

* * *

Arya tried to listen to Margaery, and she tried to focus on the positives of her possible marriage to Tommen. To begin, he was not Joffrey. That was an enormous mark in his favor. Secondly, he was not several decades older than her. Arya heard many horror stories about girls as young as Sansa being wed to seventy or eighty year old men. Thirdly, he was kind enough. She could never picture Tommen lashing out at her in anger or trying to beat her. Not that she would let him if he tried. Fourthly, he would be easy enough to manipulate.

In King's Landing, there were puppets and puppeteers. Those who arranged the board and those who moved about as pawns. It all seemed like a game of who could collect the most strings to pull. People like Tywin, Littlefinger and Cersei had many strings to pull. Others, like Tyrion, moved in the middle.

Arya had been brought to King's Landing as one of Tywin's puppets to move where he pleased. But she did not want to be trapped in strings forever. If she wanted to rise above, she would have to play the game. Perhaps she could use Tommen for that. Perhaps, if he inherited land away from the capital, she could escape the grip of the Lannisters. She would have more freedom then.

She tried to look on the bright side. She tried to look at things from Margaery's perspective. But every time she did, her own thoughts interrupted her.

 _A good marriage could take you away from the capitol._

 _But why should I have to leave as someone's wife?_

 _You can only be free if you have power._

 _Why? Why must it be that way? Why can't I change the rules?_

 _With freedom you could fight as you wish._

 _I will fight no matter what._

She spent more time with Tommen when they encountered each other in the garden. She made sure that their guards were always around though. Ser Osric seemed to work more for Tommen than for Joffrey so she did not feel in danger of him. And at least with some guards around she did not have to fear from Cersei.

Arya made a game of avoiding the Queen Regent. She kept her door and window locked up tight at night. She stayed away from the rooms she often frequented. She asked Tyrion to warn her if Cersei was going to be nearby any of Arya's usual spots. Tyrion was all too happy to help her with this game.

She only saw Cersei at court, which she was required to attend as the Lannister ward. Arya hated court because she always appeared in uncomfortable dresses with sleeves that swallowed her arms and hems that tripped her if she was not careful. But Cersei's glare burning a hole into the back of head did not help either.

"If it makes you feel better," Margaery said one day. "She spends just as much time glaring at me as she does at you."

"It doesn't," Arya replied. "She has enough poison for two cups."

Cersei only got Arya alone once, just before court when not everyone had yet settled in the room. She gripped her arm so hard it left a bruise for a few days after.

"Do not forget what you are, Lady Stark. You're the daughter of a traitor and you will not wed my son," Cersei said through a forced smile. "I'll make sure of it."

"Please do," Arya replied in as sweet a voice as she could muster. "I don't want to marry your son. If you can convince Lord Tywin otherwise, I would be glad to hear it."

That seemed to make her just as angry. There was nothing she could do to please Cersei, but she did not wish to please her.

Time at court did give Arya a chance to observe the people who pulled the strings in King's Landing. First, there was Varys, known as the spider. He hadn't spoken to Arya, but Tyrion seemed to know him well. Or well enough. Most people didn't truly _know_ the Master of Whispers. Secrecy came with his job description.

"He won't be your friend," Tyrion said. "But he won't work against you either. I think he actually rather liked your father, for his principals if nothing else. He hoped that your father might be sent to the wall rather than executed."

"I hoped for the same," Arya murmured.

Then was Grand Maester Pycelle, who had tended to Arya's wounds. He must have been a gifted maester if he had lasted so long in King's Landing. But he seemed like an old, senile fool. Tyrion warned her that he was not as senile as he let on and not to trust him.

"He leaks information often to my sister. Never tell him anything if you can help it."

And then there was Lord Peytr Baelish. Littlefinger. According to her mother, the man had claimed to be an ally to the Starks, but that certainly hadn't kept him from selling Arya out to Tywin. Nor had it kept him from sitting on Joffrey's small council. He was a traitor, a liar and a coward, and his name looked good on her list next to the others.

But he, like all of the other powerful people in King's Landing, was smart and too well connected to harm. He did not speak to Arya, in fact, until she attended court. Surrounded by so many people, she could not even scream at him, much less claw out his eyes.

"Lady Stark. It is good to see you well. After your long absence, many in the capitol thought you dead."

"Lord Baelish," Arya replied flatly. "Why are you acting surprised to see me back? You're the one who gave my name to Lord Tywin."

Littlefinger smiled. "I do serve the crown, my lady. And the king's peace. You were needed to bring peace."

"You serve whoever is convenient," Arya said. "You'll do favors for anyone you can use. Don't worry, my lord. I want nothing from you. Nothing you would be willing to give me anyway."

"That's not necessarily true," Littlefinger said. "I could have a great many things that you want."

"And you'd ask a price for all of those things, I'm sure. I don't trust you or your price." She glared at him. "Give me a reason to change my mind or don't talk to me at all."

Littlefinger laughed once. "I see your resemblance to your father, Arya Stark. It's in your eyes." He tapped the corner of his eye. "And in your honest tongue. He did not fare so well here."

"I know how he fared. And you did nothing to help him," Arya said through gritted teeth. "I'll make you pay for that one day."

 _Cersei_

 _Joffrey_

 _Tywin_

 _Illyn Payne_

 _Littlefinger_

Those were her only targets remaining in the capitol. All of them so far out of reach for her alone.

But she was not fully alone. Jaquen Hagar continued to visit her in her practice room. He continued to ask for a third name. But still, Arya had not decided which name to give. Cersei was, perhaps, the greatest threat to her at that moment. But there was Joffrey to consider. This might be her only chance to kill him. Or maybe she should spend her last name on Littlefinger?

She could not decide.

But she would have to choose soon if she did not want to lose her chance.

* * *

Arya continued to spend time with Tommen, partially out of spite for Cersei, and partially because there were only so many people she could talk to. She enjoyed Lord Tyrion but he was often otherwise engaged. Lady Margaery was the same, but she could not afford to talk too much with Arya, lest she anger her future husband. She did not see Lord Tywin unless he had something important to tell her. Not that she wished to see him, but at least conversations with him were engaging.

So, Tommen was one of her best options for company. He wasn't that interesting a person, but he was kind enough. They often returned to the maze to solve it again. Her guards waited outside the maze and his guard accompanied them.

"I know how to solve it," Arya said, one afternoon. "I've memorized the route."

"That's not the fun of it," Tommen said. "You're supposed to _let_ yourself get lost then find a way out."

"That doesn't seem like a good strategy at all."

"Why must everything be about strategy?" Tommen asked.

Arya sighed and looked up at the clouds. Orange and pink had begun to cut across the blue of the sky. The days were getting shorter as winter approached, but she did love the long shadows of the early evening.

Then the shadows behind them moved.

Several months on the run had made Arya hyperaware of her surroundings. She tensed at even the sight of a rabbit flashing through the brush. But this was not a rabbit. This was a man who slipped from a dead end in the maze and lunged for them. Metal flashed in the dim light.

Arya whipped around to intercept the blade, knocking Tommen to the ground as she did. It sank into her right shoulder nearly up to the hilt and she let out a cry of pain. But she did not let it slow her. There was no time. She slipped the knife from her sleeve into her left hand and slashed upward. Her blade cut through the assassin's eye and he stumbled back releasing the knife. Seconds later, Tommen's guard drove his sword through his back.

"Lady Arya," Tommen scrambled to his feet. "Are you hurt?"

Arya swayed on the spot, forcing herself to breathe. "I'm fine. It's just my shoulder."

"Lady Stark," one of her guards appeared at her side, placing a hand on her uninjured shoulder. It was one of the first times she had heard him speak. "We should get you to a Maester."

"Why would someone try to assassinate her?" Tommen asked.

"Any number of reasons," the Kingsguard muttered. "But that assassin wasn't targeting Arya Stark. He was targeting you, my prince."

Tommen paled, as if for the first time he realized that he could be killed. "Me?"

He was right, Arya realized. A practiced assassin would have stabbed her in the heart. But she was not the target. When she reacted, she intercepted a strike meant for Tommen's chest.

Someone had tried to assassinate the prince.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Haha, I know you guys missed the cliffhangers. There are gonna be several in the next few weeks :) Next time we try to figure out: who tried to kill Tommen? Tis a mystery. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	16. Chapter 16: Suspicions

_**A/N: Sorry 'bout the cliffhanger. You all have many guesses in the comments so we'll see who gets it right :) For now, we're back to see the aftermath of this attempted assassination. And there is a lot of Tywin and Arya in this chapter so I enjoyed writing it.**_

 _ **Shoutout to Karlandra, who sent me a small paragraph of prose inspired by my last update which I doctored a bit to fit at the beginning of this first scene :) It actually worked kind of perfectly as an introduction so thanks a bunch!**_

 **Chapter 16: Suspicions**

Tywin examined the blade. It was slim and well made. Foreign. No Westerosi blacksmith would make a knife like this. Where in the seven hells had the girl gotten it from? A fork, he understood, but this?

He watched it hold steady on his finger-perfectly balanced. And just beyond the blade, the girl watched him. Her shoulder was bound and her arm in a sling from the knife wound, though Pycelle insisted there would be no permanent damage. Whatever the case, the pain did not seem to bother her. Not nearly as much as his silence did.

Silence was the easiest way to stir most people into nervousness and Arya Stark was no exception. She was better at hiding it than most. She didn't fidget or look away. She had stopped lifting her chin so much, and she kept her gaze steady. But there was anxious intensity in her eyes and a tension in her jaw.

At last, Tywin lowered the knife. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it," Arya replied.

She wasn't lying, but she wasn't telling the whole truth either.

"Did you plan on using it on someone else?" he asked.

"Only in an emergency."

"And what qualifies as an emergency, in your mind?"

An almost smug gleam passed through her eyes. "Saving the prince's life."

Tywin exhaled. She really was too smart for her own good. And her instincts _had_ saved Tommen. "This is a distinctive blade. Very thin. I'm sure it makes a unique wound." He looked up at her. "If you were to kill someone important with it, your guilt would be obvious."

"Yes," Arya murmured.

"So don't kill someone important." He flipped the knife in his hand and handed it back to her.

She looked up at him in surprise. "My lord?"

"You'll just find another weapon if I take this from you," Tywin said. "I prefer to know what you have."

Her mouth twitched into a smile and she accepted the blade. "Thank you."

He nodded once and stood, pacing over to the window. "How is your shoulder?"

"Doesn't hurt as much as the broken arm did," Arya said. "I still have my left hand. Everyone keeps injuring the wrong part of me."

"Or the right part, from your perspective," Tywin said.

"That almost sounded like a joke, Lord Tywin," Arya said.

He glanced back at her. "It's a good thing you know better than that."

"Yes. I do." She turned her gaze back to her knife. The blade spun between her practiced fingers in a blur.

She handled it like an expert. Like someone who had been training very hard to kill someone. How many hours a day did she devote to fighting, he wondered. It had saved Tommen, perhaps, but it could kill others who Tywin needed alive.

"Lady Arya," he said at last.

She looked up from her blade.

"I'm not a fool," he said. "I know you don't practice with your blades for self-defense alone. There are multiple members of my family you want dead. Including me."

"Then why give me the knife?" Arya asked.

"Because sometimes you kill the right people," Tywin said. "But whoever you kill...I will find out. And I will deal with you accordingly."

Arya lifted her chin then. She hadn't broken herself completely of that tell yet. "I might not use this knife."

"It doesn't matter if you use that knife or your sword or any other weapon," Tywin said. "I'll know from looking at your face. I can always tell when you're hiding something."

She glared at him then. He had seen that sullen look many times before. On Arya and on Cersei when she was a child. How would Cersei handle Arya's heroic rescue of her son?

When Arya did not retort, Tywin knew he had won the argument. For now. He paced back to the door. "Rest and recover, Lady Arya. You're of more use to me when you're unwounded."

* * *

Arya's shoulder wound was minor compared to her injuries a few months previous. The blade had not hit anything important. It would leave only a small scar behind once it had healed.

Most importantly, Tommen was safe and his assassin killed. He thanked her profusely all the way back to the castle, fretting over her wound. He apologized to her too. For dragging her into such an awful mess. Arya could not imagine how he came from the Lannister family. He was far too kind.

And his life could still be in danger. Arya guessed the assassin had not acted on his own. Someone must have paid him. But why? Trying to kill the king, she understood, but why would someone try to assassinate the prince?

Arya was contemplating this very question when a knock came at her door. She quickly checked to make sure her knife was up her sleeve. It was. "Come in."

Cersei Lannister glided through the door. Arya internally cursed a few times before she dipped into a curtsy.

"Your grace. I'm surprised to see you here."

"Are you?" Cersei asked.

"It was my understanding that we tried to avoid each other," Arya said.

Cersei smiled tightly. "Perhaps. But I come here today with good reason." She paused for a moment, as if gathering her words. Arya had never seen such an expression on her face before. "I would...like to thank you, for a few days ago. If you hadn't gotten in the way, Tommen might have died. He's very precious to me."

Her gratitude must have tasted like poison to her. Arya wanted to feel smug but instead she was shocked. She hadn't expected Cersei to stoop to thank her at all. "I...got lucky. That's all. I'm glad Tommen is not hurt."

Cersei tilted her head to the side. "I'm not sure you did get lucky, Lady Arya. You have quick reflexes. And the wounds on the body...Ser Osric stabbed the assassin through the back but you cut through his eye, didn't you? Do you carry a knife?"

Arya studied her. "Why are you asking?"

"Because young ladies usually don't," Cersei said.

"Young ladies aren't usually beaten half to death by two knights." Arya slid her knife from her sleeve and placed it on the table between them. There was no point in hiding it. It made her look more suspicious. "Your father already gave me permission to carry it. You _can_ take it from me but I will find another one. I'm not interested in being helpless again."

Cersei smiled and picked up the knife. "You misunderstand me, Lady Arya. I'm not going to take your knife. Of course not. If you used it on anyone important, everyone would know and you would be executed. My father knows that. That's why he let you keep the little blade." Cersei handed the knife back to her. "If you are to marry Tommen, there might be other attempts on his life. Perhaps you'll need this knife again."

Cautiously, Arya took the knife back and slipped it back up her sleeve. "Yes, your grace."

Cersei folded her hands into her sleeves, pacing to the other side of the room. She looked up as if inspecting the quality of the walls. "You must hate Joffrey terribly. Perhaps even worse than you hate me. The fury is so clear in your eyes every time we see each other. And I've watched you in the throne room, burning holes into the king with your glares. But Tommen. Tommen has always been such a sweet thing. The kind of boy who rescued stray cats and tried to raise them on his own."

"He seems very kind," Arya said.

"It's not an act. He is," Cersei said. "I wonder if you've thought about it. Vengeance. I took something I love from you. Perhaps you would take something I love from me in return. I wonder if you considered hurting him to have your revenge on me."

"My father used to say that the innocent should not suffer for the sins of the guilty," Arya said. She kept her tone as steady as she could. "And Tommen has never wronged me."

"He likely never will." Cersei looked her up and down. Arya's face grew hot under her scrutiny. "You're not a great beauty, Arya Stark. Not like your sister. I know you had no designs on my son. This is my father's game and you're only a piece of it."

Arya pressed her fist against her thigh. "No. I'm not a great beauty. Is that why you didn't want me to marry Tommen?"

"No," Cersei said. "It's better that you aren't. At least you don't hide your anger with pretty smiles. I know exactly how you feel. And who you are."

Arya observed the queen regent. She wasn't sure how to read this conversation. Cersei still did not trust her but her rage had cooled. Perhaps she could not rage at anyone who had defended her son. Her love of her children was true, even if nothing else was.

Cersei clasped her hands together and replaced her pensive expression with a tight smile. "In any case...I did not just come to thank you. There is a small council meeting this evening. I know you've already given your full account to my father, but he would like you to give it again, so that everyone can hear."

Arya nodded. "Of course, your grace."

It seemed Cersei was less a danger to her than usual. Still an enemy...but less of a threat.

There would never be any fondness between them, but for now there was some sort of truce.

* * *

The small council was full of people Arya didn't trust and a few who she barely trusted. Littlefinger, Grand Maester Pycelle, Cersei, Varys...all of them had plots all over the kingdom and would use her, sell her out or kill her if it suited them. Tyrion was the only one she reluctantly trusted because he had not yet given her any reason to hate him. Lord Tywin...in a strange way she did trust him, at least to be honest with her. He would tell her frankly if he ever planned to kill her. The others would try to be sneaky about it.

And then there was the king himself. Joffrey was in attendance at this small council meeting, watching with her with his beady green eyes. Arya started to lift her chin again, but thought better of it. She set her jaw and stared him down. She would not be afraid of the wretched boy.

"Give us your account in full," Lord Tywin said. "Do not leave out any details."

"We were in the hedge maze in the gardens," Arya said. "Ser Osric was a short distance behind us. It was early evening when the assassin tried to attack Tommen. He slipped out of one of the dead ends of the hedge maze and tried to stab Tommen in the chest. I happened to get in the way and took the blade to my shoulder. I wounded his eye and he let go of the knife and stepped back. Then Ser Osric killed him."

"Her story conforms to that of Osric and the prince," Lord Tywin said.

"What do you remember about the assassin?" Varys asked. "Did anything about him...stick out to you?"

"He was dressed in very ordinary clothes. No armor. But he didn't look like he was from the capitol," Arya said.

"He wasn't. He was from the north," Littlefinger said. "Grand Maester Pycelle inspected the body. He found signs that the man belonged to House Umber."

Arya's brow furrowed. "That doesn't make sense."

Cersei smiled at her. It was the kind of smile one gave a foolish child. "I understand you are protective of the north, Lady Stark. But it is unlikely all of your brother's vassals accepted the end of the war." She turned back to the others. "Of course, if House Umber is behind this, then it would fall to Lord Stark to-"

"That's not what I meant," Arya said. "It doesn't make sense because whoever paid the assassin must have known Tommen."

They all looked back at her. Joffrey's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"The assassin was waiting in the maze," Arya said. "Tommen loves the maze. He goes there frequently. Someone from the north wouldn't have known that."

"It is possible someone followed you both into the maze," Littlefinger reminded her.

"But he didn't follow us. He didn't attack from behind because Ser Osric would have intercepted him," Arya said. "And my guards were standing at the entrance. They would have seen. Someone knew Tommen would visit the maze and they paid the assassin to wait there."

"That doesn't narrow down our options," Cersei said. "Tommen's love of the maze is common knowledge amongst King's Landing. Anyone in possession of several spies could have passed along that information to the north." Her gaze flicked to Varys and Littlefinger. Neither of them rose to the bait.

"But why would an assassin carry any sign of the house that sent them?" Arya asked. "That's just stupid."

"It may have been a mistake. The sigil was very small-engraved on the pommel of a dagger. Not the one he used in the attack," Littlefinger said.

"It might not be a mistake," Tyrion said. "I've been the victim of this kind of trick. Someone armed an assassin with a dagger they claimed was mine and sent that assassin to kill Bran Stark a few years ago."

"Bran?" Arya's eyes widened. "Why would someone try to kill him? He was paralyzed."

"I'm not sure, since I wasn't the culprit," Tyrion said. "The assassin failed of course. But then Catelyn Stark arrested me, my lord father raised an army, and the Starks and Lannisters started a war. Someone may be using this _mistake_ to start a war anew."

"It is shocking how many people hate peace," Varys commented. He glanced at Littlefinger, as is he meant the comment for him. Littlefinger did not respond.

Cersei laughed once. "That's a farfetched idea. It's just as likely that some people in the North are angry that they did not gain the independence they desired. Or that they want revenge for Ned Stark."

Arya tried not to bristle at the suggestion. "The north doesn't _deal_ in assassins. That's not our way."

Cersei opened her mouth to respond but Joffrey held up a hand.

"It's too soon to know for certain. We will have to investigate further before we know if the north is truly to blame. Perhaps the knife is a coincidence, but who knows?" He looked up at Arya. "But we are grateful for your testimony, Lady Arya."

Joffrey's words set off immediate warning bells in Arya's mind. _This is wrong,_ she thought. _He is being too reasonable. This is very wrong._

It was much more like Joffrey to jump to blind accusations. He did prefer war to peace, after all. But he was showing...caution? Was Tywin truly getting to him or was this some sort of trick? Whatever the case, she could feel her nerves buzzing as the meeting ended and the small council filed from the room. Once they had all left, Arya turned to go as well, but Lord Tywin stopped her.

"Not you."

Arya paused and turned back to face the Hand of the King. "Joffrey was acting strangely tonight. Did you notice?"

"I notice he's trying harder to play at being king," Tywin said. "It's possible I scared him a several months ago after he almost killed you. There's a reason he hasn't tried that again."

"I didn't like it. I felt more in danger than ever," Arya said.

"That's because you know he's only pretending while I'm in the room," Tywin said. "You were right about the assassin. Someone is trying to start another war, and it was someone who knew Tommen's habits well enough to give the assassin the perfect place to strike."

"There are plenty of people who don't support peace with the north," Arya said. "But...some of those people would never put Tommen in danger."

"Correct. Cersei has nothing to do with this," Tywin said. "However, if our culprit is looking to start a war, you are an obvious target. Be careful."

Arya lifted her chin. "I'm not afraid."

Tywin raised an eyebrow.

 _Damn,_ Arya exhaled and lowered her head again. "I've been getting better about that."

"I've noticed," Tywin said. "Regardless, you would be a fool not to be afraid."

Arya nodded once. Already this place had nearly killed her twice. She hadn't even been in King's Landing a year yet. How many more attempts on her life would she have to survive?

"You keep that knife on you at all times, don't you?" Tywin asked.

"Yes," Arya murmured. She could feel the cool metal against her forearm.

"Good," Tywin said. "You may need it again soon."

* * *

 _ **A/N: A chapter with lots of Tywin and Arya conversations is always fun to write. Now, I promise Jaime WILL show up NEXT chapter. I'm actually not lying this time. Until then, review, hand in your predictions, tell me your hopes and dreams, etc. etc. Until next time!**_


	17. Chapter 17: Honor and Loss

_**A/N: As promised, Jaime is back! And depressed :) I enjoyed writing this chapter, and I actually think it turned out really nicely. Thank you all SO much for all of your reviews by the way. The last chapter got more than ever and I really appreciate it. One of you even reviewed in spanish so: gracias!**_

 _ **But, without further ado: the next chapter.**_

 **Chapter 17: Honor and Loss**

Returning to King's Landing, Jaime felt like a ghost in his own body. He drifted through the gates on his horse. He drifted through the halls. He drifted all the way to his father's tower.

He did not want to see his father at all. He already knew what he would say and he could feel his disappointment palpably throughout the red keep. When Jaime had a squire send a letter to his father about the victory, he had not told him about his hand. But he would know by now. Everyone in the keep probably knew by now.

Still, he climbed the steps to the tower, and resigned himself once again to being a terrible disappointment. Ser Bronn had recovered his sword from the battlefield, at least, so Jaime had not lost that precious gift. But what did it matter anymore? He couldn't wield it. It was little more than decoration at his hip. If he couldn't fight, he might as well be dead.

His father was alone in the tower when he arrived, writing again. How many letters did he write a day? Jaime wondered. And how nice must it feel to still have a right hand with which to write.

His father looked up. For a long while he didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Jaime felt the weight of his expectations crushing him down with a single stare. He gritted his teeth. How his wrist throbbed.

"You look ill," Tywin said at last. "Did the maester on the battlefield see to your wound properly?"

Jaime nodded once. "Cut off the rot. Burned out the infection. It's just fine. Other than the hand being gone."

Tywin set down his quill. "Jaime-"

"Don't say it," Jaime muttered. "I already know what you'll say. Jaime, why weren't you patient? Why didn't you starve them out instead? Why didn't you just _wait_? This is your own doing, _Jaime_."

"If you know my thoughts so well, why didn't you listen to them?" his father asked.

"I don't know. I don't know the reason for half the things I do. I just do them," Jaime shook his head. "Does it matter anymore? It's done."

"Yes it is. Stannis is dead. Your hand is gone," Tywin said.

"Stannis dead," Jaime repeated. "Do you think they'll put that in the book? Perhaps Kingslayer won't be the last line anymore."

"Is that why you did it? Glory?" His father's voice was full of contempt. "Did you want to redeem your honor?"

"My honor is beyond repair. We both know that," Jaime hissed. "No. I didn't do it for glory. I don't _care_ about glory."

"Then what _do_ you care about?" Tywin snapped as he stood. "Anything? Not the family, clearly. You gave up on serving the family when you became a King's Guard. Not honor. Not glory. Not power. So what do you care about?"

"The sword in my hand," Jaime said with a humorless smirk. "And now...nothing I suppose."

Tywin cursed under his breath and circled around the desk. "You lost your hand. Not your head. No son of mine is going to give up so easily." Jaime looked away as he approached. He studied the mud on his boots. "Look at me."

Jaime did not. He _couldn't_ look at him. In that moment, he would rather do anything other than face the look in his father's eyes.

"Jaime. _Look_ at me." His father clasped the side of his face in his hand. Jaime obeyed this time. Somehow, Tywin always managed to force his children to obey. "You're my son and you are a Lannister of Casterly Rock. You will wear that name proudly even if you lose every one of your limbs. Do you understand?"

Jaime could only nod.

"Good." Tywin stepped away. "You're pale. Go to Pycelle and make sure your wound is fully taken care of."

Jaime nodded again and drifted from the room.

* * *

He did not go to Pycelle. First he drifted over to Tyrion's room, knowing his brother would have wine. He did need a great deal of wine. When he arrived, Tyrion didn't quite seem to know what to say. He tried to keep his conversation light, but Jaime could sense him tip-toeing. What to say to a brother who had lost himself on the battlefield? Jaime would not know the answer to that question either.

"You're pale, Jaime. You don't look well," Tyrion said. "You should see Pycelle."

Jaime promised to do so. He let himself drink until his head was fuzzy. Then he drifted away from Tyrion too.

He did not go to see Pycelle. He drifted toward Cersei next. Not _to_ Cersei. Just toward her. He passed back and forth in front of her door several times but never managed to go inside. The disappointment in her eyes might have utterly broken him. He could not take any of her anger today. His shoulders could not bear the weight of it. Between his father's disappointment and his brother's awkward silence...it was too much. All too much.

Instead he found himself drifting to a different part of the castle, into a large room open to the air. Arya Stark's practice room.

The Stark girl was there. He knew because her two guards stood outside the door. They did not attempt to stop him as he wandered through. She was practicing with that tiny little sword of hers. She lunged forward, then retreated again, fighting off an invisible enemy. Her right arm was in a sling, but it didn't seem to bother her. She was left handed after all. How Jaime envied her for that in that moment.

She noticed him out of the corner of her eye and spun around to face him. "Ser Jaime." Her gaze darted from his face to his stump of a hand. "I had heard...but..."

"Heard what?" he asked. He glanced down at his hand. "Oh this? Yes. I seem to have misplaced it." He stumbled down the steps. He felt a bit unsteady. "Don't let me stop your practicing girl. I won't be able to participate today. You see...I'm not left handed like you."

Arya observed him cautiously. Suspiciously. She had Ned Stark's eyes. How he had always hated them. They had always looked at him with such contempt. Such loathing.

"Stop it," he muttered.

"Stop what?" Arya asked.

"Looking at me with your father's eyes. _Stop_ ," Jaime leaned back against the wall. "He looked at me with those eyes on the day he found me in the throne room with the Mad King's corpse. _Kingslayer_ he called me. _Oathbreaker._ And then everyone was calling me that. Like it was my damn name." Jaime laughed once. "The Mad King killed his brother and father. Burned his father alive and let his brother choke himself to death trying to save him. But he hated me for killing that king. It didn't make sense." He tilted his head to the side. "Does it make sense to you?"

"My father was a good man," Arya said flatly. She was defensive of Ned Stark. Of course, he would expect that. "He was a just man. He judged people according to the law. Not according to what he felt."

Jaime laughed. "Ah yes. Honorable Ned Stark. So fucking honorable. Tell me...if your father was in my place, what might he have done?" He leaned forward. "What if...he was the one standing next to the Mad King when his own father sacked the city? What if the Mad King told him to bring his father's head? Would honorable Ned Stark have obeyed that order?"

The Stark girl did not reply. She clutched her tiny sword in her hand as if she though Jaime might lunge at her. As if he could. He could barely keep his feet at the moment. The wine, perhaps.

"Maybe he would have," Jaime said. "'Duty before family', he might have said. 'I must obey my king'. But what if...what if the King turned to his pyromancer and ordered him to set the whole city ablaze with wild fire? You see, the Mad King had set up cashes of wild fire all over the city. Enough to destroy the whole of King's Landing and every living soul inside. What if the king ordered the pyromancer to set those stores of wild fire ablaze to kill ever man, woman and child in King's Landing? Would your father have stood faithful by his post?" He glared at the girl. She had not said a word. She just stared at him, stricken by the question. "Would he have let that many people die...in service to his king? Would that have been _honorable_?"

"Is that what happened?" she asked at last. Her voice was soft. Tentative. "The Mad King tried to burn down the city?"

"Oh yes. The Mad King loved watching things burn. He would have laughed at the sight of it. He always laughed when his enemies melted away." Jaime smiled mirthlessly. "I'm not really sure what your father would have done. But I know what I did. I killed the pyromancer before he could make the door. And then I drove my sword as deep as I could through Aerys back. I don't think he expected to die. He didn't even cry out in pain. He just kept chanting, "Burn them all. Burn them all. _Burn them all_." Jaime practically growled the words. "Well, I slit his throat to shut him up."

"If you killed the king to save King's Landing...why didn't you tell my father that?" Arya asked. "He would have understood."

"Would he?" Jaime asked. "I don't think so. Ned Stark judged me guilty the moment he found me in that throne room. The contempt he had for me. You should have seen it. He wanted me punished for my crimes. My _crimes_. He was fighting to depose the damn king yet I was evil for killing him? I was dishonorable?" Jaime barked out a laugh. "By what right does the wolf judge the lion?"

Arya's eyes widened. Jaime realized, too late, that he had crumpled to the ground. Suddenly he was staring up at the ceiling.

The girl rushed to his side. "Ser Jaime. You're burning. Your wound must still be infected." She cursed under her breath. "Wait here. I'll fetch the Maester." She gripped his shoulder surprisingly hard for someone of her size. "Do _not_ die."

Then she left him. He listened to her footsteps racing down the hall until they faded into nothing.

 _Let me die,_ Jaime thought. _There's nothing left for me here. If there are gods I'll face my crimes. If there are gods, I'll spit at their feet._

 _Just let me die._

* * *

Jaime did not die. When next he woke, it was from the pain of Pycelle sawing off another part of his wrist. Someone shoved a cloth into his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue as he roared with pain.

When the pain was done, he faded in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he saw his brother's face. Sometimes his sisters. Once he saw his father's back. He was talking with the Stark girl though he could not make out the words. She stared straight at him with those Stark eyes. Defiant.

 _Do not die._

Her words seem to have cursed him, because though he wanted to die, he could not. Instead he passed in and out of fitful dreams. He dreamed of battle. He dreamed of a cage. He dreamed of Robb Stark's great direwolf snapping at his throat.

He dreamed of shoving Bran Stark out of the window, only to have the boy pull his hand off as he fell.

He dreamed of the iron throne, with the Mad King sitting upon it. _Burn them all,_ he screamed. _Burn them all._

Jaime went to silence him but he had no sword and no hand to wield it. The fire erupted through the hall, breaking apart the stone. He watched the Mad King's flesh melt off his face and still he laughed. The throne room fell away, leaving Jaime alone.

The sky above him swarmed with dragons.

* * *

When he woke for the final time, after his fever broke, his father stood in the corner of the room looking down at him.

"Are you truly awake now?" he asked.

Jaime nodded once.

"Good," Tywin said. "Never endanger your life like that again."

It was an order. His father was fond of giving orders. But Jaime did not have the energy to argue with him or even speak. He could only nod again.

Arya Stark, it seemed, had cursed him to live a little longer.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Arya Stark gonna spitefully save the whole Lannister family and NO ONE can stop her lol. This is a lie. Not the whole Lannister family. But so far, she's got Tommen and Jaime. Collecting those sweet, sweet Lannister debts.  
**_

 _ **Anyway, tune in next time as Jaime has to deal with living without his hand. We will return to the assassination plot in a few chapters, but for now the spotlight turns to Jaime. Review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	18. Chapter 18: Debts

_**A/N: Happy Thursday! Time for a lot more Jaime and Arya, including a scene a lot of you have been clamoring for ever since Jaime lost his hand lol. Without further ado, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 18: Debts**

Before he left to fight Stannis, Jaime Lannister had insisted that Arya did not owe him anything for saving her life. He said that the Stark words had nothing to do with paying debts. But family words meant nothing, and Arya still felt the burden of owing him.

When he stumbled into the room that day, swaying like a drunken man and hissing words like a wounded cat, she got her chance. She ran for the maester. She instructed her guards to carry Jaime and follow her. She watched as Pycelle cut away the rotting parts of his wrist and treated the infection.

 _If he lives, this will pay my debt,_ Arya thought. _If he dies, I will owe a dead man._

Arya's ears still rang with the story he had told her. The story of the day that made him the Kingslayer. She wondered, at first, if he was telling the truth. But what reason would he have had to lie? He was delirious with fever.

If Jaime Lannister had saved King's Landing...why did her father hate him so much? It wasn't honorable to let half a million people die for a cruel king. It wasn't honorable to let _one_ innocent die for a cruel king.

Arya did not know why she lingered in the room as Pycelle tended to Jaime. Maybe she wanted to make sure he would live before she left. Her debt would not be paid otherwise. A few times, Jaime woke from his fitful sleep and looked at her with his half-conscious gaze. She stared right back at him with what he had called "her father's eyes".

She willed him to survive and relieve her of her debt.

She made herself small in the corner as his family came and went. None of them bothered her or told her to leave. They barely seemed to notice her. How strange it was to see the Lannisters worrying over Jaime as the Starks had once worried over Bran. It was almost uncomfortable. To see them as a family.

But she didn't move. She kept her post and watched.

The fever broke late that night. Tyrion cursed once with relief when Pycelle declared that Jaime would live. Cersei actually smiled. Tywin's face did not move but Arya saw the tension go out of his shoulders.

He had been more afraid for Jaime than he would ever admit.

When the danger had ceased, Arya quietly rose from her chair and went to slip from the room. Tywin stopped her, grasping her shoulder tightly as she passed. She looked up at him, confused.

"Your have my thanks, Lady Arya," he murmured, so quietly that no one else could here. "I am in your debt."

Never before had those words felt so significant.

* * *

Soon enough, Jaime was healthy again and walking around as if nothing had happened. Well, the hand was still gone, but his wound was no longer trying to poison his blood. Self-hatred still ran deep. Regret still ran deep. But Jaime no longer wanted to die, which he supposed was a start.

There was a bright side to the ordeal. After nearly losing him to death, Cersei was acting more her old self. She smiled at him and put down her wine when he came to visit her. She apologized for not seeking him out sooner after he returned. She kissed him again. He had desperately missed her lips.

"I'll have a golden hand made for you," Cersei said. "It will let everyone know who you are."

"Everyone already knows who I am," Jaime said. And a golden hand meant nothing if he could not fight. Still, it was better than nothing. Perhaps he could slap someone with it.

One thing haunted him about his brush with death. Arya Stark. He had spoken too freely with her in that room right before he collapsed. He laid the whole truth bare before a girl who hated him. A _Stark_. He had behaved like an utter fool and a drunk. She never should have seen him so weak.

It would have been easy for her to leave him there, burning his life away. She could have walked from the room and left him slumped across the floor. Instead she didn't. She had found the maester and she must have asked her guards to carry him down the steps.

Why? That question had been tormenting him ever since he woke. _Why_ did she help him?

He asked Tyrion that question, wondering what he would have to say about it. His brother usually had an answer for most things and he was good at reading people.

"Why are you so bothered by the Stark girl's motives?" Tyrion asked. "It all seems rather obvious to me. You saved her from Joffrey and she saved you from your own stupidity. A paid debt."

"No. It's not a debt," Jaime said. "She doesn't truly owe our family anything because she's a _hostage_. She shouldn't feel indebted. And she could have left me so easily."

Tyrion sighed. "Father and Cersei are giving you such a cynical world view lately, brother."

Jaime gave him a look. "You have a cynical worldview too."

"Well yes," Tyrion agreed. "But Arya Stark doesn't. Not quite. Part of her still believes in the honor her father fought for."

"So why save a notoriously dishonorable Lannister?" Jaime asked.

Tyrion swirled his wine in his cup. "Did you hear about what happened with Tommen while you were away?"

"Cersei said he was almost assassinated," Jaime said.

"Yes. And the Stark girl saved him. That's why she's injured again. She took a knife to the shoulder. She didn't think about saving Tommen, she just did. No calculations. No grand plan. Do you know why?"

Jaime shrugged. "I assume you are going to tell me."

"Because Arya Stark instinctively helps people in trouble," Tyrion said. "The world hasn't beaten that out of her yet."

Jaime stared down at his stump of a wrist. Once upon a time, he had been the same way. He wanted to protect the innocent. He wanted to save people. His desire to be a knight was wrapped up in the misconception that all knights were heroes.

Then, serving King Aerys, he had no choice but to smother that instinct. The Mad King killed the innocent for fun, and there was nothing Jaime could do to help any of them. None of the other knights helped either. They watched. They waited. They did nothing.

"Give her time," Jaime said at last. "A little longer in this place, and she'll learn to be as terrible as the rest of us."

Still, he knew he had to thank her for what he did...and perhaps apologize for being so open. He made his way back to her usual practice room to find her.

She was there, of course. She was always there, sparring. Today, she noticed him as soon as he entered the room. She lowered her sword, lifting her chin.

"Ser Jaime."

"Lady Arya." He inclined his head. "Is your invisible opponent giving you trouble?"

"He was in the beginning, but I got the better of him," she replied.

"Naturally." Jaime rubbed his forearm just above his stump. He hated this. He hated having to ask forgiveness for such a stupid moment of weakness. Why didn't he keep his mouth shut? "I came today because...Well, I'm...I'd like to apologize. I don't quite remember everything I said to you a few days ago, but I know I said too much."

"Was it the truth?" Arya asked.

Jaime nodded once.

"Then don't apologize," Arya said. "If anything, you should apologize for not seeing to that wound sooner. You caused a lot of trouble."

"I excel at that," Jaime said. "At the time, I wished you left me to die."

"Why would I do that? You didn't leave me to Joffrey." Arya sheathed her sword and hid it in the stones again. "Don't Lannisters have words about paying debts?"

"You're not a Lannister."

"I'm your family's ward. Perhaps I'm trying to blend in," Arya said. "Besides. My father believed in paying debts too. That's what justice is, right?"

Jaime studied her. "In a sense, I suppose it is." He took a step back toward the door. "I'll leave you to your practicing. I only came by to apologize."

"You could stay and practice," Arya said.

Jaime blinked. Did she mean that as a joke? Her expression looked sincere. "I'm afraid I won't be much good at that anymore."

"I have something for that." Arya crossed the room.

"Really? Are you hiding a spare hand in here?" Jaime asked.

"No. But I found these." Arya picked two wooden practice swords up from the wall. "They're extras that my teacher and I used to use while sparring."

"And what am I to do with a stick?" Jaime asked.

"Practice." Arya tossed him the sword. His fingers fumbled and it clattered to the floor. She smirked a bit. "Next time you will catch it."

"This is ridiculous," Jaime said. "I've fought with my right hand my whole life. Training my left hand will be like starting from scratch."

"Then you best get started," Arya said. "You said you're nothing without swordplay. Then fight for it. I have." She circled around him. "Every day of my life I fought to wield a sword. They kept taking my sticks away from me and giving them to my brothers instead. They told me I was a lady and I could never be a knight. But you. They put a sword in your hand as soon as you could walk."

"And now I've _lost_ that hand," Jaime glared at her.

"You have another one. I fight with my left hand. Why can't you fight with yours?" Arya held his gaze, a challenge in her eyes. "You're just worried that if you try again you'll fail. Scared you'll be beat by a girl?"

Jaime gave a mirthless laugh. "Anyone ever tell you not to play with a lion's tail?"

"This lion only has one paw. And he just told me that he's too scared to fight. Why shouldn't I?" Arya asked. She lunged forward and gave him a smack on the arm. Then another. "Pick up the sword, ser. Fight me. If you're as good as everyone says you would try _again_."

Jaime let out a half snarl and seized the tip of her sword when she swung at him once more. His grip was weak but she let him have it, bending instead to pick up the sword he had dropped.

"Good. You're holding a weapon. That's a start." Arya extended hers. "Now fight me."

Jaime shook his head. "Why do you care if I do?"

"I don't know," Arya said. "I just do. It's depressing seeing you wander about the keep." She swallowed hard. "You saved my life. Let me help you keep yours."

Jaime laughed once. What an interesting girl. Debts, it seemed, were important to her. Even if they were owed to a man her father despised. To a Lannister. "A one handed man against a girl. What fools we'll look like."

"Then we'll be fools." Arya gestured for him to come at her. "Come at me. Or I'll start hitting you again."

Jaime sighed. The girl was one part mad and two parts stubborn. She would not be refused. "Very well, Lady Stark." Then he lunged at her. Their wooden blades met with a sharp 'clack' that echoed through the room.

* * *

Arya Stark's guards made regular reports to Tywin and only Tywin. He picked them specifically because they did not speak to anyone else. They only spoke to Arya herself if absolutely necessary. The Stark girl needed such guards because there were plenty of untrustworthy people who might try pay off less loyal men.

Godrick Swyft, was one of the grandsons of House Swyft. Harys Hill was a bastard of House Crakehall. Neither had any chance at inheritance and they had both had entered the service of House Lannister earlier. They had passed many tests of silence and loyalty. Twice, men had tried to buy their silence or there words and both times they had reported the treachery to Lord Tywin. They would both die before they ever betrayed Tywin's confidence. He was not merciful to those who did.

That night, it was Hill who reported to Tywin, while Swyft remained at his post. Hill told him about Jaime's visit with the Stark girl.

"I think he meant to give her his thanks and be on his way," Hill said. "But then she forced him to practice with her. He stayed there for a good while."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Forced?"

"She kept hitting him with a practice sword until he picked one up, my lord." Hill shrugged. "Eventually, he did. I think he was too annoyed to argue."

"How long did he stay?"

"The better part of two hours. He cursed quite often," Hill said. "A few times he tried to put down the sword and she started hitting him again."

Tywin very nearly smiled at that image but he stopped himself. "Report to me again if this continues."

Hill bowed in response and left the room.

Tywin sat back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. When he chose to take Arya as his hostage rather than Sansa, he knew it was out of some personal preference. He enjoyed the Stark girl. She was interesting. But since she arrived, she was doing a great deal to justify his decision. In the past month she had saved Tommen and his son, and now she was forcing Jaime to practice by the sheer force of her stubbornness.

Perhaps she was trying to gain favor to ensure that her brother would survive King's Landing. Perhaps she felt indebted to Jaime for standing between her and the King's Guards. Perhaps she just wanted someone to practice with her, and Jaime was a means to that end.

Even more unlikely, perhaps she did not have an ulterior motive.

She was a strange girl. On some level she was willing to kill. She was willing to rip her enemies apart, if only she had the tools to do so. And yet at the same time, she had learned from her father growing up. She had learned from her father's honor. That part of her did not allow her to leave a man for dead.

But the honor her father believed in was an illusion and no one in this place operated by those principals. If Arya Stark ever lost faith in that imaginary concept, she would become as dangerous any other.

She could be a great threat to his family. Or a great asset. Only time would tell.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Jaime and Tywin are both stressing over Arya's ulterior motive and Tyrion is the only one who's like, "Guys, she's just a good person. Chill." Tyrion is the emotionally adjusted Lannister somehow... and he's an alcoholic!**_

 _ **In any case, hope you enjoyed Arya and Jaime's training session as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sometimes a guy just needs to get hit with a stick a lot. Next time I'm going to drop a big cliffhanger on you so, ya know, prep yourself. I apologize in advance.**_

 _ **Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	19. Chapter 19: An Arrow in the Dark

_**A/N: And we're back! On one hand, this chapter has my favorite conversations thus far (one with Arya and Jaime and one with Tywin and Arya). On the other hand, I'm dropping a giant cliffhanger on you all so...sorry in advance!**_

 **Chapter 19: An Arrow in the Dark**

Once, Arya had been a student of Syrio Forel, the first sword of Bravos, back when she liked the idea of fighting but did not know anything about it. Now, a few years later, she found herself in the peculiar position of being a teacher.

As irritated as Jaime acted after Arya released him from their first practice session, he returned the next day. And the next. And the next. He always claimed that he found life around the castle dull and that he had only come to pass the time. But Arya knew that part of him wanted to practice. Part of him wanted to believe that he could train his left hand to be as good as his right.

If Jaime was not Jaime without his sword, then he came here to fight for his identity.

His grip was weak. His muscle memory was non-nonexistent. But he still had his footwork and his reflexes. He just needed to relearn the sword.

Arya did not go easy on him. She often struck at the places he would have most difficulty blocking and that made him angry. But when he was angry he fought harder.

 _Some people are motivated by desire,_ Syrio told her once. _Others by anger. Others justice. If you know what drives a man, you can help him, teach him, and kill him._

Arya thought about those words often. She told herself that fighting with Jaime was just a way of learning his weaknesses in case he ever became her enemy. He was of house Lannister after all. It was her job as a Stark to learn their weaknesses.

 _A lie to yourself is the worst lie of all, Arya Stark._

Syrio's words were sometimes quite annoying.

Truly, she did enjoy sparring with Jaime, especially now that they were more evenly matched. She liked being able to hit the man who was once one of the best knights in the seven kingdoms. It made her feel strong. She also liked having someone to fight. Swinging at an invisible opponent got rather dull and it didn't help her to practice her reflexes.

While Jaime pretended that these lessons were of no consequence to him, Prince Tommen treasured every word that dropped from Arya's mouth.

When his mother finally let him go outside again (always well-guarded of course), Tommen often asked Arya to accompany him to the gardens. In fact he would not return to the maze without her. He was too nervous to go alone, even with his guards. On these walks, he pestered her about how she handled a knife.

"I want to know how to use a blade like that," Tommen said. "I'm well protected, yes, but what if my guards fail? A knife could save me if you're not there."

He had such an eager and open expression, and if he was ashamed of asking for help from a girl, he did not show it. Arya was reluctant to teach him initially, but then again, Tommen was right. He should be able to defend himself. He was a prince, after all.

So Arya relented. She showed him how to hold a knife and how to throw one properly. How to slash and slice and how to conceal the weapon in his sleeve. It was just enough to ease his mind-knowing that he had some defense against future attackers.

And for Arya...well it was nice to have someone ask _her_ for help in a fight. Tommen did not dismiss her as a helpless girl anymore. He knew better than that. And Jaime, it seemed, was starting to learn too.

"You've improved since I last fought you," Jaime commented one day. "Or maybe I'm just that much worse."

"I practice as much as I can," Arya said. "There's not much else to do."

"Apparently your practices have gotten boring as well, or you wouldn't have dragged me into them."

"You're free to go at any time."

Jaime shook his head, adjusting his grip on his sword. "If I try, you'll start hitting me again."

Arya titled her head to the side, allowing a grin. "Am I _hurting_ you, ser."

Jaime's eyes sparked at the challenge and he lunged at her again.

At the end of the two hours, and at the end of their stamina, they stopped practice for the day. Jaime sat down on a crate, taking a long draught of water. "These crates have seen better days. Have you been throwing knives at them?"

Arya glanced off to the side.

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Who are you practicing to kill, Lady Stark?"

"Anyone who tries to kill me," Arya said flatly.

"Then the gods help them," Jaime said, raising his canteen in a sort of toast.

Arya's mouth twitched and she leaned her practice sword up against the wall. "I don't believe in most of the gods anymore."

"How heretical of you."

She cast him a glare and he smirked.

"Don't worry. Neither do I," Jaime said. He set down his canteen and leaned back against the wall. "When did you stop?"

Arya stared at her feet. She knew exactly when. She remembered the exact moment that the gods fell to earth for her. She remembered the faith in higher powers leaving her body, as swift as the downward stroke of a sword. "When I saw my father die."

Jaime nodded. "I lost my faith over time... but I started hating the gods after my mother died. It didn't seem fair at all...for them to take her. And everyone always insisted the gods were fair."

"Your mother," Arya looked up at him. "Who was she? No one in your family has spoken much about her."

"She is a bit of a forbidden topic," Jaime said. "Cersei and I were eight. Quite young to lose a mother. I'm not sure either of us understood death before that moment."

"What was she like?" Arya asked. "Do you remember her?"

"Yes," Jaime said. "I can barely picture her face but...I remember her voice. And of course I heard all of the stories about her. She was beautiful. Strong. Stubborn. There's a lot of her in Cersei I think."

"Was she cruel like Cersei?" Arya asked before she could stop herself.

Jaime laughed once. "You two really do loathe each other, don't you?"

"I have plenty of good reason to loathe her," Arya pointed out. "What reason does she really have to hate me?"

"Your name, I suppose. That's enough for her," Jaime said. "But no. My mother was not cruel. Except to her enemies. My father loved her. They say he actually smiled on the day they were wed. Can you imagine that?" Jaime shook his head. "I think I was the only one who didn't hate Tyrion after she died. I hated the gods. But not Tyrion. He was just a baby. The way they spoke of him, you'd think he was a monster. But father needed someone to hate. Someone to blame."

Arya couldn't think of what to say. It seemed to her that Lord Tywin hadn't allowed himself to feel an emotion other than anger for decades. She did wonder what he was like before his wife passed. She couldn't picture him truly smiling though. His smiles were always laced with contempt. "When is the last time your father smiled?"

"I'm not sure. A long time ago. He used to smile at us on rare occasions when we were children. But that was mostly before our mother died." Jaime exhaled, placing his hand over his face. "Why on earth am I telling you this? Why on earth do I keep telling you anything?"

"I'm not sure," Arya admitted. "Your father does it sometimes too. So does Tyrion. You all seem to like telling me things."

"You'll be able to write a history about us soon," Jaime exhaled. "You should even the scales. What dark secrets have you been hiding?"

 _I have a contract with an assassin and am still considering which of your family I want him to kill,_ Arya thought.

"Dark secrets?"

"Surely the Stark family can't be as perfect as it seems," Jaime said.

Arya shrugged. "We... didn't have dark secrets. My parents loved each other well, especially considering they barely knew each other when they married. My siblings and I all got along. Well, I fought with Sansa sometimes. A lot of the time. But it was the kind of fighting all siblings do." She perched on another one of the crates, tucking one knee up to her chest. "My mother always hated my half-brother Jon, but the rest of us liked him. Everyone in our household was kind to us. We were happy."

Jaime let out a small groan. "Seven hells."

"What?" Arya shot him a look.

"You all really were a picture perfect little family," Jaime said. "Everyone getting along. No blood feuds of any kind."

"It's not _that_ strange _,_ " Arya said.

"It is. It's very strange," Jaime said.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Well, everything fell apart when we went south. Our entire household was killed in these halls." She swung her right leg back and forth, tapping a steady rhythm on her crate with her heels. "Father lost his head. Robb and mother went to war. Sansa was trapped here. Bran and Rickon were taken prisoner by Theon."

"Ah yes. Theon Greyjoy," Jaime said. "Tell me about him."

It had been a very long time since Arya thought about Theon. She knew he had turned on them, but it was hard to think about the boy that she knew becoming their enemy. "He was cruel to Jon sometimes..." she said at last. "But I thought he liked the rest of us. He taught me how to shoot a bow better once." Arya picked at one of her nails. "I never thought he would turn against Robb. They were close."

"He was a Greyjoy. Your father helped to kill half of his family," Jaime pointed out.

"We treated him well," Arya said.

Jaime gave her a look. "Lady Stark. You, like Theon Greyjoy, are now a ward to an enemy house. My father has treated you kindly enough. Most of us have, with a few notable exclusions. If one day you returned home and your brother asked you take up arms against us, what would you do?"

The words struck Arya hard. She hadn't really thought about Theon's situation as similar to hers. She hated him for betraying their family.

But if Robb asked her, she would turn against the Lannisters in a heartbeat.

"It's alright. I know your answer," Jaime said. "So does my father. But hopefully it won't come to that. We are in the midst of a peace." He raised his stump of an arm. "And I'm in no shape to go to war again."

The door opened before Arya could respond. She hopped off the crates as Tyrion entered.

"Ah, brother." Jaime stood. "Would you like to take a turn at sparring?"

"You would both beat me rather badly," Tyrion said. "No, I came for Lady Arya."

Arya took a step forward. "Has something happened?"

"My father wants to see you." Tyrion smiled at her. "Your brother has won the last of this war."

* * *

Nothing could quite describe the relief Arya felt as Lord Tywin told her the news. Her brother had crushed the remainder of the Greyjoy forces, claiming Pike for the crown. Robb Stark had installed another lord there, temporarily, to keep the peace. Balon and Theon Greyjoy were both executed for their crimes against the king.

The news of Theon's death felt strange to her. He was a traitor, after all, and had put her little brothers in danger. But she still remembered him as the Theon she left in Winterfell. She was glad at his death, but it was a bitter sort of gladness.

Most importantly, Robb was alive and would soon ride south. She would get to see him again.

"Westeros will never worry about another Greyjoy rebellion after this one," Tywin said. "Their fleets are scattered and burned and the Greyjoy line ended with Theon. My tolerance for the iron islanders was at its end."

"How soon will Robb be here?" Arya asked.

"Within the week I'm sure." Tywin started toward the table to pour himself a goblet of wine. Arya stopped him.

"Let me. I have experience as a cupbearer," she said.

Tywin's mouth twitched. It was his version of a laugh. "Pour yourself a goblet too."

"I don't like the taste," Arya admitted.

"That's because the north has terrible wine. Try some again," Tywin said. "It's bad manners to refuse a lord's offer."

Arya inclined her head and poured herself a cup as well. She handed Tywin his goblet and raised her own. "To peace?"

Tywin raised his cup. "For now."

Arya sipped at her cup. It was better than the wine they had in Winterfell, but still had a bitter after taste. "You don't think the peace will last?"

"It never does for very long. I've seen several rebellions in my lifetime. There's always another," Tywin said. "Some people like war because it creates opportunities for them. Opportunities to grab at more power. Sometimes they justify their causes, of course. Stannis claimed the throne was his right. Renly claimed he would be a good king for the people. Balon and your brother wanted independence. But it's all just pretty words for the same thing. Power."

Arya did not like her brother being lumped in with those other kings, but she knew better than to argue. "Some wars are fought for just causes."

"Causes can be just," Tywin said. "Men rarely are. Remember that."

"Have you known any men who were just?" Arya asked.

"Not entirely. I don't think it's possible," Tywin said.

"Maybe it's not possible to be _completely_ just," Arya said. "But my father was mostly just. And he wasn't hungry for power. He couldhave taken the throne if he wanted to, but he didn't."

"No," Tywin agreed. "He gave the throne to Robert Baratheon instead. And Robert Baratheon was a terrible king. Was that just of your father to give the realms to his friend? Or should he have taken the throne knowing he could rule better."

"That's not fair," Arya protested. "How could my father have known he would be a bad king?"

"He grew up with Robert. Thought of him as a brother. I'm sure he suspected Robert was not suited for the throne."

"Maybe he didn't _think_ he could rule better," Arya said. "He never even expected to be Lord of Winterfell. His older brother Brandon was supposed to have that...before he died. I heard my father say to my mother once, when I wasn't supposed to be listening, that he was only ever trained to follow his brother's lead. He didn't want to do anything else."

"True enough," Tywin said. "There are some men more confident as followers than leaders. They have no ambition. My brother is like that. You've filled his cup before. Do you remember?"

"Lord Kevan," Arya recalled. "He seems like a good man."

"He is," Tywin said. "He's loyal and he's a kinder man than I am. I imagine he's disagreed with me a number of times. But he almost never questioned me. I can trust him _because_ he has no designs on power." He sipped his wine. "Unfortunately, neither does Jaime."

Arya's brow furrowed. "Jaime?"

Tywin nodded once. "You mentioned before that your father could have taken the iron throne. My son could have done the same. Before your father ever walked into that room it was just Jaime, the throne and the corpse of the Mad King. He could have declared himself king and my soldiers would have supported him. We were there long before the Baratheon and Stark men arrived." He leaned back against his desk. "But he didn't. I don't believe he even thought about it."

Arya stared thoughtfully down at her wine. What a different world they might live in now if Jaime had the same lust for power as the other Lannisters. "Do you wish he did?"

"No," Tywin said. "It may have created more trouble than it was worth. Robert and your father would have fought it."

"Did you ever wish you could be king?" Arya looked up at him.

He studied her for a moment. "I don't need a crown to give me power, Lady Arya. The crown is really just another trick. The same as just causes."

"I suppose nothing is real then," Arya said, a bit snidely.

"That's a question for the philosophers," Tywin said.

For a moment, a silence fell between them. Arya traced her thumb along the rim of her cup. It was made of gold. Typical of a Lannister. "Can you promise...that Robb will leave this city alive?"

"I already told you I would gain nothing from his death," Tywin said. "I haven't lied to you yet."

"You can't blame me for fearing for him," Arya said. "He's my brother."

"I know," Tywin said. "Considering the debt I owe you for saving my son...letting your brother die would be a poor way to repay it."

Arya's mouth twitched. "How does it feel, being in debt so someone?"

"Careful now, girl," Tywin replied, but she could tell by his tone that the question had not truly angered him. "I can't promise any absolutes. I don't control every piece in this city. But I can promise you that Joffrey fears me, and so long as I am in the city, he won't go against my wishes."

Arya nodded once. She believed him. But ever since her father was beheaded there was a persistent voice in her head whispering in warning, _"your whole family will join him some day. And you will be left alone."_

The Greyjoy line was finished. Several other houses had died out in this war. And if Robb had not agreed to peace terms, the Stark name might have joined them. Arya was all too aware of the fragility of names and families now. Her family had survived for now, but for how long?

Tywin finished his wine and circled around his desk to flip through some papers. "Speaking of my son, how is his training coming along?"

Arya stilled. "My lord?"

"Well, you seem to have designated yourself Jaime's teacher." Tywin glanced up at her. "You're followed at all hours by two guards that belong to me. Don't act surprised when I know how you spend your time."

Arya set down her wine. "People who give up easily irritate me. I was only trying to-"

Tywin held up a hand. "Don't explain. There's no need. I'm pleased that someone is forcing Jaime to practice."

Arya's eyebrows shot up. "You are?"

"I don't have time to force him. You might as well," Tywin said. "He seems to listen to you."

"Only after I hit him a few times," Arya muttered under her breath.

Tywin heard her and smiled as he looked back down at his papers. Arya blinked hard. It was a genuine smile. Small, and gone in a few seconds, but without any of its usual contempt. She wondered if he had even realized he had done it.

 _I must be seeing things,_ she thought. _I should leave before I see anything else strange._

She started to turn toward the door. "My lord, if there's nothing else-"

The words died on Arya's lips. Because as she turned, the door had opened and in stepped a man armed with a crossbow.

A crossbow aimed directly at Tywin Lannister.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Haha, yeah, anyway, see you Thursday for some more fun. Arya just can't seem to escape these dangerous situations can she? But what's more shocking? The appearance of an assassin or Tywin Lannister kind of smiling?**_

 _ **Your comments and predictions continue to be wonderful and I'm glad everyone is enjoying the Arya and Jaime relationship thus far. Until next time!**_


	20. Chapter 20: Panic

**_A/N: Alright, alright, I'm back. I know the cliffhanger sucked. As an apology: here's a 5,000 word chapter! Yaaaay. This is by far the longest chapter I've written, but it needed to be. Without further ado, enjoy!_**

 **Chapter 20: Panic**

The next moment happened in slow motion. Arya registered the assassin and she registered his target at the exact same moment. She went instinctively for her knife, hurling it at the assassin's head at the same time he fired off the bolt. She struck him directly at his temple and he collapsed in a heap on the ground.

Arya's whole body buzzed with panic as she turned to look at Tywin. He was sitting in his chair. The bolt had struck his shoulder, not his heart. He must have moved out of the way in time.

He gritted his teeth together, gripping the bolt tight in his hand. "Poison." With a grunt he ripped the bolt from his shoulder. "They coated the tip with poison."

 _Seven hells,_ Arya thought.

It occurred to her, in that moment, that if she did nothing, Tywin Lannister-her captor, and one of the names on her list-would die. It was a startling thought, considering he always seemed so invincible. This was an opportunity she might never have again.

The same thing must have occurred to him. He met her gaze for a split second, and she saw that he understood: for once his life was in her hands.

She thought about it. For a long moment, she thought about turning and walking out of the room. But then, reality set in again. If she let him die, then Robb would never leave the city alive. She wouldn't last long either. Joffrey's fear of Tywin was one of the things that protected her.

No. He had to live a bit longer.

"What do I do?" Arya asked.

Tywin nodded at the cabinets on the other side of the room. "There's a vial in there. Small, transparent. The liquid inside is clear."

Arya rushed to the cabinets and held up the first battle that matched the description. "This one."

"No. Smaller."

She found another. "This one?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Bring it here."

Arya obeyed, handing him the vial. His wound oozing blood, but it wasn't as visible past the red of his doublet. He took the vial and downed the whole thing.

"It will slow the progress of the poison long enough to get a real antidote," he muttered. "But it busy me minimal time. I need the Grand Maester."

"I'll find him."

Arya rushed to open the door. When she did, she saw the bodies of her two guards sprawled across the steps. She choked down bile and stepped back into the room. Right. She should have expected that.

"New plan. My guards are dead. If you stay here, someone else will kill you before the poison does." She pried her knife from the assassin's skull. "Can you walk?"

"For now." Tywin forced himself to his feet.

"Then we'll both go to the maester." Arya adjusted her grip on the knife. "And if there are any other assassins coming...we will probably both die." She took a deep breath. Her heart was absolutely racing and she had poor odds with only her knife.

"See that we don't," Tywin said firmly. Even as he was dying he was giving orders. He _never_ stopped.

Arya opened the door again and stepped around the bodies of her guards. Lord Tywin walked unsteadily just behind her, placing his hand on the wall to keep himself upright. She advanced quickly down the stairs, checking for any other assassins. She flinched at the twitch of every shadow.

At the foot of the tower, the door opened and a shadow entered. Arya recognized the same clothes on this man as the assassin upstairs. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it wasn't. She didn't have time to think about it. She launched herself down several steps and drove her small blade into his throat. Blood sprayed across her face.

 _I will not be afraid. I am a wolf._

She looked back to make sure Tywin was still behind her. He had reached the foot of the stairs, though he was leaned almost fully against the wall. She could see sweat starting to bead his forehead, and his shoulders shaking with the effort of breathing.

 _If he falls, I'll never get him up again,_ Arya thought. _I'm too small for that._

Instead, she hurried to his side and he grasped tightly onto her shoulder for support, giving her a single nod. They hurried on from the tower and toward the Grand Maester's quarters. Late at night in the keep, no one else was around. Almost as if everyone had been cleared from the area beforehand. Perhaps the mastermind had paid off any of the usual guards so that they wouldn't interfere.

The mastermind had not expected Arya to be a problem.

Rapid footsteps rose behind them and Arya glanced over her shoulder in time to see a third man charging. She shoved Lord Tywin out of the way and the assailant's knife passed between them.

Fluid as water, quick as a shadow, Arya found her footing again and slashed out at the assassin with her blade. This one was faster than the others though. He dodged and countered with a jab of his own. Arya very narrowly dodged the blade.

 _It will be coated in poison too,_ she thought. _I can't let it touch me._

The blade whistled dangerously close to her cheek, so close that she thought it must have cut a strand of her hair.

 _What do we say to the god of death?_

She dodged a second stab, stepping back down the hall.

 _Not today._

The assassin struck again and she all but threw herself backward. She rolled and slid across the floor before coming up in a crouch several feet away from the assassin. Just far enough. As the man ran at her, she threw her knife and embedded it in his stomach. He crumpled to the ground with a gasp. His knife clattered to the ground.

Growling, Arya pushed herself to her feet and seized the assassin's fallen knife. She stalked over to him, holding the point to his throat. "How many of you were there?"

"Y-you...how could you..."

"How _many_?" Arya snapped. She gripped onto the blade embedded in the man's stomach and twisted hard. He screamed.

"Three," he cried. "There were...th-three of us."

Three. That meant she had killed them all. She cast a glance at Tywin who sat on the floor, hand clasped over his wound. Maybe the assassin was lying, but even so, Tywin wouldn't be able to walk any further. She would have to take the risk and run for help.

She pulled her blade from the assassins stomach and drew it sharply across his throat. Then she stood. "I'll be back," she told Tywin, sprinting off without another word. She had to get the Maester. Had to get someone, at least. Someone who could carry him.

 _Hold on,_ she thought. _Just hold on._

* * *

This was not the first time someone had tried to kill Tywin Lannister. From the very beginning of his life, he was a target. The eldest son of House Lannister in a time when the Lannister name was not respected. Men had tried to kill him-with poison, with swords, with arrows-since he was very young. Nothing he did would ever stop him from being a target. The key, he found, was to make people too afraid to try.

Someone stupid had made this attempt on his life. Someone stupid but with a lot of resources. From the moment the arrow struck him, he started to realize the plan. Someone was trying to create chaos and bring back war. Tywin's death would let Joffrey run wild, and with Robb Stark riding south, this was a very bad time for Joffrey to be off of his leash.

He could not die. Not this night. But his survival rested entirely on the shoulders of a fourteen year old girl.

He saw her think about leaving him. He saw the notion pass through her eyes. But then, she knew as well as him, that only Tywin had the power to ensure her brother's safety. So she armed herself with that tiny knife and guided him down the stairs.

He could feel the poison taking slow effect. His body felt heavy. His head dizzy. Breathing was difficult. He would not be able to fight anyone off in this state. If there were any other assassins, it would be up to Arya Stark to deal with them.

Shockingly...she did.

Tywin knew, of course, that she practiced swordplay. That she carried a knife up her sleeve. But he had never seen her use either, until that night. Panic transformed her into something almost inhuman-quick, feral, vicious. With her brother's life on the line, she did not hesitate to kill.

Cersei described her as "wild as a wolf". Only now did Tywin actually believe her.

The poison set in further. He could not focus on the Stark girl as he slid down the wall, pressing a hand over his wound. It was a trial to stay awake. The third assassin screamed in pain.

" _How many,"_ the girl snarled.

Tywin stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't die tonight, but he wondered for a moment if he would. Men didn't get to choose when they died. No one did.

If men could stop death, then Johanna would still be with him.

 _I must be close to end if I'm thinking of her,_ Tywin thought. He tried not to remember her, even all of these years later. It was too painful.

Somewhere, he heard the girl speak again. "I'll be back." He heard her footsteps echoing down the hall, until they faded into nothing.

 _They may have killed me this time._ He struggled to draw breath. He dug his thumb into his wound to try to keep himself awake. _Johanna..._

He got the sense that if he closed his eyes he would see her again. See her face. He still remembered her face so clearly even after so many years. It was tempting. So many years of trying to hold up the world. It was so...tempting to rest.

Footsteps returned. More of them this time and heavier. Tywin wondered if someone had come to finish him. Instead he heard his son's voice.

"Father."

Jaime lifted him from the ground with his one hand and balanced his arm over his shoulder.

"Hold on. Pycelle is close."

Tywin blinked twice. Arya Stark was at his other side, digging her nails into his other arm. Her wolf's eyes blazed with silver fire.

"Do not die," she ordered.

That was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness.

* * *

The situation was bad, but not hopeless. Now that Tywin had received the proper antidote, Pycelle assured Jaime that his father had a chance to live. And an equal chance to die. It was more uncertainty than Jaime was comfortable with. But there was hope.

For every night his father survived, his odds would improve. But even in the best case scenario he would be confined to rest for several days. That would leave him vulnerable. He needed to be guarded well every day, by men that they could trust.

It was a fucking mess. This could not have happened at a worse time. Robb Stark was days away. What was to stop Joffrey from murdering him in the throne room, in the same place the King Aerys murdered his uncle and grandfather?

Arya Stark had clearly considered this, because she refused to leave the room. There was still blood flecked across her face and clothing. She had killed three assassins, she said. Three men with a tiny knife.

She must have caught them all by surprise. A fourteen year old girl from a noble house was not supposed to be a threat. By the time they realized she was one...well, it was too late.

She sat in the corner, wide eyed, still clutching her tiny weapon, watching his father twist and turn in his bed. Waiting to see if her efforts would be for nothing.

Jaime exhaled and crossed to her. "Lady Stark."

She didn't look at him.

"Arya," he said, a bit louder this time.

She looked up at him, blinking, as if she just realized he was there.

"Are you injured at all?" Jaime asked.

She shook her head.

"Good," Jaime said. "You should get some sleep then. You've done all you can here."

"I'm not particularly tired," Arya said. "I'll stay."

"For what reason? Are you going to will him to stay alive? You, of all people, should know that doesn't work," Jaime said.

Arya didn't reply. When he looked closely, he saw that she was trembling. He'd seen these same symptoms in young men after their first battle. Tonight may have been the girl's first true fight to the death. She had won, but her body had not yet calmed down from the experience. She was still waiting for another assassin to jump from the shadows.

"Arya," Jaime rested a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch. "He's only here because of you. But you can't make him live."

"He has to," Arya said. "If he doesn't then Robb..."

Jaime exhaled. "It might not come to that."

"Can you promise?" Arya glared up at him. "Can you promise me my brother's life?"

Jaime didn't answer. Of course he couldn't. He was a one handed man and a King's Guard. The king was both his nephew and son. He could not stand against him if he chose to kill Robb. Instead of offering false promises, Jaime pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"You should see to the blood on your face."

"That's not going to save my brother either," she muttered.

"No, but I don't recommend walking blood splattered through the keep," Jaime said.

Arya accepted the handkerchief slowly, dabbing at her face. She seemed almost surprised by the amount of red that stained the white.

Jaime opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment the door opened. Petyr Baelish stepped through, with a bow. "Ser. My lady. How is Lord Tywin?"

"Not good," Jaime said. "But not dead."

"That is a relief," Littlefinger said. "I just came from examining the bodies of the assassins. I thought you might want information."

"Obviously," Jaime said.

"They likely came from the same place as our first assassin," Littlefinger said. "No sign of Umber this time, but they did have other similarities in their dress. I think we are dealing with the same culprit." He glanced at Arya. "The same savior too, apparently. The assassins should learn to stop attacking when you're around, shouldn't they, Lady Stark?"

She did not respond. She glared daggers through the man. Of course, Littlefinger had betrayed the Stark house before and had betrayed her to his father. Jaime imagined that she rather hated him.

"Do you have any idea of that culprit?" Jaime asked.

"At the moment, the most likely suspect is the north. Though it's likely they had help from a spy in King's Landing," Littlefinger said. "We best be wary of our friends in this time."

"Should I be wary of you, Lord Baelish?" Jaime asked.

Littlefinger smirked. "I do recommend it. But I assure you, I am loyal to King Joffrey."

"You're not really loyal to anyone. But you're loyal to those who give you power. I suppose the king did give you a holdfast." Jaime ran a hand through his hair.

"The north didn't do this," Arya murmured from behind him. She was studying her small blade. "It's too obvious. They would have hidden it better."

"Not everyone is as bright as you, Lady Arya. People make mistakes," Littlefinger turned back to Jaime. "It's too soon to know for certain. We will have to investigate further before we know if the north is truly to blame. Perhaps the knife is a coincidence. Who knows?"

"You should know," Jaime said. "We employ you to know things. So _find out."_

"Of course." Littlefinger gave a small bow and started toward the door.

"Lord Baelish," Arya said softly.

Jaime turned back to look at her. She had the strangest look on her face. Like she had just remembered something very important.

"Yes, Lady Stark?" Littlefinger asked.

"Who do you think the culprit will target next?" she asked. "They must have other assassins here. Who is the next target?"

"It's impossible to say," Baelish said. "There are many worthy targets. But both of their attempts thus far have been unsuccessful. They might leave."

"I wonder...why they haven't attacked the king," Arya said. "If the north is behind this...and they wanted revenge...Joffrey is the one who killed my father. Why go after his brother and his Hand?"

"I'm not sure of their goal. Perhaps they are lashing out blindly. Perhaps Joffrey is too well guarded. I will find out." He inclined his head. "Excuse me."

Jaime's brow furrowed and he looked back to Arya. "What was that about?"

"Nothing." She stood abruptly. "I should go."

Jaime blinked. "You wouldn't move and now you're in a rush? What changed?"

"Maybe I'm just listening to you." Arya strode past him.

Jaime caught her arm and pulled her back. "Lady Arya. Are you planning to do anything stupid?"

Arya looked up at him. "No. But I'm going to do something." She glanced one more time at his father, then she jerked away from Jaime and swept from the room.

Jaime exhaled pacing to the other side of the room. His father had gone still again, but he was still breathing. For now at least.

"You have to live," Jaime murmured as he looked down at him. "We all despise you sometimes. Most times, actually. But things always seem to fall apart when you're not around."

His father did not reply. And Jaime was left in the silence of uncertainty.

* * *

When Arya was still Lord Tywin's cupbearer, Peytr Baelish had come to Harrenhal to speak of strategy. He had something then that Arya had remembered a year later.

" _In my experience, chaos is an opportunity."_

Lord Baelish was a man who came from a very small house in the Riverlands. He should have had no hope at real power. But since the war he had become the lord of a holdfast, negotiated the Lannister alliance with the Tyrells. He knew how to use a war to elevate his position. Because money and silver-tongued men were vital in war.

But they weren't in a war anymore.

" _It's too soon to know for certain. We will have to investigate further before we know if the north is truly to blame. Perhaps the knife is a coincidence. Who knows?"_

Those words sparked something in Arya's memory. Joffrey had said nearly the _exact_ same words in the small council meeting two moons ago. They hadn't sound right coming from his mouth. He had sounded like he was parroting someone else.

The words sounded right coming from Littlefinger's mouth though. Perhaps Littlefinger advised Joffrey what to say in that meeting. She thought Joffrey was just trying to play nice in front of Tywin. But what if he was growing bold? What if he was tired of listening to his Hand? Joffrey was not the kind of person who liked being told 'no'. Maybe he wanted to get rid of the one person still powerful enough to say that word to him.

And in the same vein, he could blame it on the north. Give himself a reason to kill Robb when he road south. He would seem like a just king then, wouldn't he? _The North tried to kill my brother and grandfather. I will answer with blood._

Not that Joffrey cared about seeming reasonable. Littlefinger probably advised it. She imagined Joffrey coming to him with his plan and ordering him to help. So Littlefinger was trying to make the best of Joffrey's blaze. He was tempering some of the king's rage with the hope of rising to even more power. What would the king give him as a reward? A bigger castle? More power?

" _I assure you. I am loyal to King Joffrey."_

Littlefinger had not lied when he said that. Clever of him. But Joffrey was not loyal to his family. Not even his own little brother.

They had both made a vital mistake though. They underestimated her. Arya imagined that her presence at the two assassination attempts was not a coincidence. If Tommen had died when she was near, perhaps they could have blamed her. At the very least, Cersei would have been eager to point the finger at Ned Stark's daughter. And tonight, if she left Tywin for dead, they easily could have claimed that she planned to kill him with the North.

But Arya was not so weak as either of them thought. She would not let herself be implicated in any crime she did not commit. Not like her father. Littlefinger understood that now. He would not make the same mistake a third time.

" _The assassins should learn to stop attacking when you're around, shouldn't they, Lady Stark?"_

It all made sense to Arya as she rushed down the hall. But she had no proof and she was unlikely to find any. But she knew someone who could.

Arya knocked rapidly on the door to Tyrion's quarters until he answered. He looked surprised to see her. "It's the middle of the night, Lady Stark."

"You're awake." Arya pointed out, brushing past him into the room.

Tyrion rushed after her. "Ah, Arya, perhaps you should-"

Arya stopped in her tracks when she saw Shae lying in Tyrion's bed, resting her chin on her hands. She was naked.

Arya whipped around to face the other way. "My apologies. I didn't expect her to be here."

"That's why you should wait before you storm into a man's bedroom," Tyrion said.

"I suspected Shae of being someone's spy. I just did not expect her to be yours," Arya said.

"I'm not a spy," Shae said sharply. When Arya glanced over her shoulder, she had donned her gown again.

"It's true, she's not," Tyrion said. "I thought she would be safer as a hand maiden for a lady with no connections to Cersei."

"Safer? What does she need saving from?" Arya asked.

Tyrion glanced at Shae, looking torn between the truth and a lie. Shae looked back at him, undaunted.

"Would you like to tell her, or should I?" she asked.

"Alright." Tyrion sighed and looked to Arya. "Shae is a whore, Lady Arya. More importantly than that, she is my lover. I care very much about her. But, since my father has promised to hang the next whore he sees with me and my sister is always looking for ways to hurt me, I needed to find a place for her at the castle. So as to not cause...suspicions."

"Your father would _hang_ her if he found out about her?" Arya blinked. "That seems extreme."

"My father _is_ extreme. You just don't notice, because he likes you. He hates me," Tyrion said. "And my relationship with whores has been a testy subject for us in the past. It's too long of a story to get into now. The point is, _please_ do not tell my father."

"I won't," Arya said. "In fact, I may never get the chance. Your father might not live through the night."

Tyrion blinked rapidly. "He...what?" For the first time he seemed to notice the blood still staining Arya's dress. "Arya, what happened?"

Shae glanced between them. "I will go. So you two can talk."

Arya nodded once and watched Shae leave. Then, she sat and told Tyrion the whole story. Tyrion listened in bewildered silence. As much as Tyrion hated his father, he never seemed to consider the possibility of him dying. Arya understood that. Tywin always seemed so invincible.

When she finished giving the full story, Tyrion sat back in his chair. "Is Jaime still with him?"

"Yes. Along with several guards," Arya said. "Lord Tywin's chances of living go up if he makes it through the night."

Tyrion rubbed a hand over his face. "So someone tries to kill Tommen and my father. Clearly, the culprit is trying to frame the north. There are many people who would want to do that, but not as many who would dare to attack Tommen and my father."

"No," Arya said. "But I have a theory. That's why I'm here." She clasped her hands tightly together. "I think Joffrey is behind both of these attacks. And he used Littlefinger to orchestrate them."

Tyrion's eyebrows shot up. "Your evidence?"

"Scant," Arya said. "I have a motive and a hunch. Not much else."

"It's something," Tyrion said. "Tell me."

"Well, we agree Joffrey wants to start a fight with the north again," Arya said. "He's been very vocal about it."

"That's indisputable."

"And we know that your father is one of the few people who stands up to him," Arya said. "Which Joffrey doesn't like."

"Also indisputable." Tyrion pointed out. "He's afraid of him, but even father knew it wouldn't last forever. Joffrey doesn't like being afraid."

"So that is plausible," Arya said. "But would Joffrey go so far as to kill his brother? You've been his Hand before. You know him better than me."

Tyrion drummed his fingers against the edge of the table. "Joffrey has never been affectionate with his little siblings. And he belittles Tommen constantly for his weakness. Tommen has learned to avoid him after a while." He looked up at her. "And it wouldn't be the first time Joffrey tried to remove one of his heirs. When I became hand, he sent the city watch out to kill all of his father's bastard children, just to make sure none of them had any claim."

"Why would that matter? They're bastards," Arya said. "Bastards have no claim."

"At the time, there was a...rumor going around that they might have a better claim than Joffrey," Tyrion said carefully. "People said he was not Robert's true born son. So Joffrey had all the other sons killed. And the daughters. Every one."

"So he would do it?" Arya asked.

"His Baratheon uncles waged war on him for the throne," Tyrion said. "I don't think he trusts anyone in his family. Not even a sweet boy like Tommen. I suppose its lucky Myrcella is in Dorne. He can't reach her there." He shook his head. "Joffrey having a motive isn't enough to accuse him. He's a blood thirsty cunt. Everyone knows that. We need something more."

"He has been acting strangely," Arya said. "Do you remember how reasonable he acted in the small council meeting awhile back?"

"Yes. It was almost frightening," Tyrion said.

"I expected him to jump at the chance at blaming the north. But he didn't," Arya said. "If he had nothing to do with it, I think he would have tried to use the opportunity. But, instead, he tried to play innocent. I didn't think he was smart enough to do that until tonight. When I spoke to Littlefinger. He spoke the same words Joffrey did that day."

"Yes, let's talk about Littlefinger for a moment," Tyrion said. "Joffrey has a motive, but what cause would Lord Baelish have to go along with it? He fears my father too."

"And he knows your father keeps King's Landing stable," Arya said. "Chaos creates opportunity. He told your father that in Harrenhal. He can't keep climbing to power if there's peace."

Tyrion tilted his head to the side. "You miss nothing, do you? Yes. Lord Baelish likes war. He reaped a great benefit from it last time. But this plan seems rushed. Hasty. Usually he's smarter than this. It's possible that Joffrey has forced him into his services." He thought for a long moment. "It's also possible that Littlefinger has a larger plan in mind. And it only seems stupid because both assassination attempts failed. Because you were there. Your skills with a knife are a complication he may not have expected."

"So you think it's plausible," Arya asked.

"Yes," Tyrion said. "But we need evidence."

"That's why I came to you. Because you can find it," Arya said. "I can't. I have no idea where I would start. But you know King's Landing and its people."

Tyrion was silent for a while. Then he nodded. "I'll see what I can do. But you must not let anyone know that you are suspicious. Treat Lord Baelish as normal. Treat the king as normal."

Arya nodded. At least, she had someone she could trust with this information. Tyrion had more cause to hate his father than anyone, but still, he cared about his family. She knew for certain that he was not involved with this.

He could help her find the culprits. But if she was going to ensure Robb's safety...there was one more thing she had to do.

* * *

Early the next morning, after a sleepless night, she waited on the balcony of her practice room. She was unguarded, because her guards were dead. Tywin had survived the night, but he would be bed ridden for a while yet. He would not be able to receive Robb. So she stood, waiting. Waiting for the one person who could help her.

"A girl looks troubled."

She spun to see Jaquen standing near the door, a mysterious smile on his face.

"A girl is troubled," Arya said.

"But decisive," Jaquen approached her. "You have a name to give, don't you?"

"I do," Arya said. "But this person must die soon. My brother arrives in a few days. If you wait too long to kill this person, my brother will die."

"I've told you before that death is assured and time is not," Jaquen said.

"I don't _care,_ " Arya snapped. "Please. Time _has_ to be assured."

Jaquen inclined his head. "Give me your name."

Arya took a deep breath. He had made no guarantees that her brother would live. But if Robb died...she would still have her vengeance. She looked up at Jaquen, fire blazing in her grey eyes.

"Joffrey Baratheon."

* * *

 _ **A/N: So, for all of you who guessed Joffrey and Littlefinger: you were both right! But it's a joint effort in this case. Those of you who pointed out that this seems a bit to stupid for Littlefinger are TOTALLY right. If he was doing this on his own and not with the human version of cancer weighing him down, he might have had better luck. Fortunately for all you Joffrey death hopefuls out there: yes! The third name is Joffrey. Woot.**_

 ** _And yes, of course I wasn't actually going to kill Tywin this early on. This is a long fic and the dynamic between Tywin and Arya is the primary focus, so I can't kill him only twenty chapters in._**

 ** _Of course, I still left you all on a cliffhanger. Just slightly less of one. Review and tune in next time for more stressful fun!_**


	21. Chapter 21: The Third Name

**_A/N: SORRY FOR UPLOADING THE WRONG CHAPTER. I put an old Dream of Spring chapter up and even though I caught it immediately it took 5,000 years to update. Anyway._**

 ** _Knock knock. Who's there? It's ROBB!_**

 ** _Also another chapter with a cliffhanger lol. To those of you who have been asking about Robb, here he finally makes a reappearance. I'm glad that the reveal of the assassins went over so well. I guess that means I did alright with the reveal. Whew. In any case, enjoy!_**

 **Chapter 21: The Third Name**

The last time Robb had been to the capital, he was barely more than a baby, and he had no memory of the great city. The Red keep and the Great Sept of Baelor were certainly a marvel to look at. Yet the whole city had a dangerous atmosphere-an undercurrent of malice running beneath to beautiful buildings.

Robb did not trust this place. He had grown more suspicious over these past few years. How could he not? War drew out traitors like poison from a wound. Even his own friend had...

Robb shook his head. He could not think about Theon right now. He didn't want to think about him ever again. It was with his own blade that he executed his once best friend only a month ago. It would have been easier if Theon was unrepentant and boldly refused to kneel. But he didn't fight the sentence. He knew he had gone too far for redemption or mercy. He knelt on the ground and let Robb take his head without any fight.

 _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

If Robb could not trust his closest friend, it was even more difficult to trust an enemy. But the North needed peace. His son needed peace. And if they wanted lasting peace with the crown, he had no choice but to kneel before this rat of a king.

He remembered Joffrey from his visit to Winterfell. He had a smug face and the grin of a boy who had never been punished for a single one of his actions. Sansa had adored him instantly, and Robb worried for her. The prince was not kind. He could see that in an instant.

Sansa saw it now too. In fact, she knew it better than anyone. Her time in King's Landing had been such a trial for her. Before Robb left Winterfell, she had clasped her arm tightly and made him promise to be careful.

"Joffrey is a monster," she said. "And if he gets the chance, he will take your head."

"Tywin Lannister won't give him that chance," Robb said. "He is a man of his word. He can control the king."

But still, he was unsure. The Lord of Casterly Rock kept his word only as long as it suited him. If Tywin Lannister did decide that Robb was no longer useful to him, perhaps he would stand aside and let him die.

He found himself kissing his wife a little longer before he left, and holding their baby boy close. Little Eddard had been born two years ago, and he was healthy as ever. Talisa was days away from birthing their second child.

He did not want to leave them. He did not want to ride south.

"If they break their word," his mother promised before he left. "We will rain the seven hells upon them. Starks know how to survive the winter. They don't."

No. The Lannister's did not know the winter. Tywin had admitted that himself. He would avoid a conflict if he could. At least Robb hoped.

They passed through the God's Gate early that morning and made their way up toward the keep. At the stables, Robb and his men were met by an escort of guards. He already could feel the tension as he dismounted his horse.

"The king has prepared rooms for you all," the man at the front said. "You must be weary from travel. At noon, the king will hold court and receive you in the throne room. Until then, you may rest."

"You are most kind," Robb said. Already something seemed wrong. He would expect the Hand of the King to greet them, since this was such an important day. "We've ridden long and hard to meet with his grace."

The man inclined his head. "This way."

Fortunately, they were not immediately led to dungeon cells. That was a good start. They were given rooms in the keep. But still, Robb felt the danger. He would likely not feel calm until he left this city. His instincts told him to flee.

He wished, in that moment, that he had brought Greywind. But he worried the Lannister's would take that as a threat. When Robb was agitated, Greywind had a tendency to growl and snap. He would rather Greywind stay behind to protect Winterfell. Even if he died, his wolf would remain.

More than anything, he hoped to see Arya. She would be able to tell him if something was amiss. And of course, he wanted to make sure she was being treated well.

Then, att the door to his quarters, he heard his guards talking to someone. "What is your business with Lord Stark?"

"I'm his _sister,_ idiots. Let me through."

Robb couldn't help but smile. Of course she would find him. He turned to see her standing in the door, her expression somewhere between happiness and anxiety. She had grown a few inches since he last saw her, and her hair hung to her shoulders. In her blue and gold dress, she looked like a proper lady. How she must hate that.

"Arya," Robb murmured. "It's good to see you."

Arya launched herself forward. He caught her up in a hug. This was still Arya. She was still alive and whole, and the Lannisters had not carved away her fighting spirit.

"It feels like a lifetime since we've seen each other," Robb murmured, setting her back on the ground. "You're beginning to grow up Arya."

"Not up. Just older," she replied.

"No, I'm quite sure you're taller than I last saw you." Robb rested his hands on her shoulders. "Are you well?" He felt a bandage beneath her dress, at the shoulder. "What's this?"

"That's nothing," Arya said. "There was an incident...But it wasn't the Lannisters that time."

"That time?" Robb asked. "Was there another time when it was?"

"There was a situation with Joffrey," Arya said. "It doesn't matter. It was over a year ago. I'm all right. You should be worried about yourself."

"I'm not the one who's a hostage," Robb said.

"I'm safe enough. You're not." Arya gripped his arm. "Listen...Robb. Two days ago, someone tried to assassinate Lord Tywin."

He blinked. "Tried?"

"He's still alive as of this morning. But he won't be in the throne room today when Joffrey receives you. Do you understand what that means?"

Robb's jaw clenched. "That Lord Tywin chose a poor time to almost die?"

" _Someone_ chose, at least." Arya looked up at him. "I think Joffrey was behind the attempt. I don't have time to tell the whole story now, and I can't stay or they might think I know something. But Joffrey is hungry for blood. And war."

"Do you think he'll execute me at court?" Robb asked.

"No. But he might throw you in a black cell and sentence you to death." She looked up at him, a fierceness in her grey eyes. "Don't worry. I'll handle it. You will be fine Robb."

Robb shook his head. Arya had watched their father die over two years ago. She had suffered so much. But if Joffrey tried to kill him, she wouldn't be able to do anything. "How will you handle it, Arya?"

"Just trust me," Arya squeezed his hand. "I have to go."

Then, without another word, she swept from the room.

Robb's hand was shaking as he rested it against his sword. He longed for the ice cold northern winds. He longed for home. But he had come south to the wolf trap where his father had been ensnared. And there was no turning back now.

If it came to a fight, he would die with a sword in his hand.

* * *

Arya kept waiting for an announcement of the king's death. She spent the whole morning listening for the bells. Listening for cries in the halls. Listening for chaos. She heard none of it.

 _Please Jaqen,_ she thought. _Please be quick._

Anxiety made it impossible for her to eat. Shae tried to force food upon her but she turned it all down.

"Your brother is here," Shae said. "Be happy. Eat."

"My brother could die here like my father," Arya muttered. "I don't think I will eat until he leaves alive."

"How will starving yourself help him?" Shae asked.

It wouldn't. But still, Arya could not stomach food.

Just before noon, Arya made her way to the throne room as fast as her feet would carry her. She found a place with a clear view of the throne, where Joffrey was already seated, looking particularly smug. He was still alive. Alive and vicious. His malicious green eyes trained on Robb.

Her brother stood in the center of the court, surrounded by his men. But his men would not be enough to defend him against the King's Guard or the Lannister men stationed around the throne room. There were more than usual. Arya could see it. Amongst the many nobles who had crowded inside, just as many soldiers stood, all with swords.

She was suddenly conscious of the knife up her sleeve, the metal resting against her forearm. If Jaqen did not intervene, would she have to use it?

 _You would die for it,_ a small voice inside of her said.

 _If I die killing Joffrey, so be it,_ Arya thought. _They will sing songs about this day._

"You stand in the presence of King Joffrey Baratheon. First of his name. Protector of the realm!"

Robb did indeed stand before him-before the iron throne. But he did not for a second look weak. He held Joffrey's gaze and stood his ground with the pride of a wolf. In truth, he looked more a king than the boy sitting on the throne.

If he was afraid, he did not show it for a moment.

"Lord Stark," Joffrey called out. "It has been some time since we last saw each other."

"It has, your Grace," Robb said. Arya knew the title must have taste it like poison, but he said it all the same. Her brother was better at hiding his hate than she was. "We've both been fighting wars."

"Yes. I suppose your rebellion did qualify as a war," Joffrey said. "But it's over now, isn't it? Time for you to kneel before your king."

Robb held his gaze for a pause. Then, he slowly bent the knee. Arya hated to watch it. She hated that her brother had to kneel at all. In the back of her mind, she blamed herself for that. If only Lord Tywin had not captured her. Then maybe he would not have had to surrender.

"I do on this day proclaim that Joffrey Baratheon is the one true king of Westeros," Robb said. "The seven kingdoms, including the north, belong to him. My sword belongs to the realm and he is the protector of the realm. I vow to serve loyally from this day until my last day."

Murmurs swept through the crowd. Arya dug her nails into her palms as she looked from Robb to Joffrey.

"What a relief to hear you say so." Joffrey stood from his throne, perhaps in effort to make himself even taller. "A shame that you did not ride south earlier when your father turned traitor. Instead you...raised your banners against me. Tried to rob me of the North." He tilted his head to the side. "Does simply kneeling forgive that?"

"I do not simply kneel," Robb said. "I crushed a different rebellion for you. The Greyjoys are dead."

"You both rebelled," Joffrey said. "So why do we crush them but let the Starks stand tall. That doesn't make sense does it?"

"I suppose that is up to you. Your Grace." Robb added the title almost as an afterthought as he looked up at Joffrey. There was no fear in his eyes, but Arya feared for him. She feared for him very much.

"And then...how do I know your words are true?" Joffrey asked, pacing back and forth in front of the throne. "In just this past month, two attempts have been made on the lives of my family. Someone tried to kill my brother. Someone tried to kill my grandfather. We have evidence to suggest that the culprit is from the north."

 _Liar,_ Arya wanted to snarl. _You're a liar and a coward. Just like that day by the river. I should have run you through then._

"If there has been any plot against your family, I had nothing to do with it," Robb said. "I keep my word."

"Do you?" Joffrey asked. "Like your traitor father?"

Rage seemed to roll through Robb's shoulders and silver fire blazed in his eyes. But he did not rise to the bait. He just stared. His gaze seemed to unsettled Joffrey and the boy glanced around.

"Well. I suppose we will get to the truth of it."

The guards in the crowd shifted. Began to surge forward. Arya reached up her sleeve and grasped her knife.

But just then, the king coughed and swayed. His next order got caught in his throat and everything stilled. He coughed again, trying to get the words out. But none came. Instead, a trail of red seeped from his nose.

"Joffrey," Cersei stood from her seat beside the throne and moved toward her son, resting a hand on his arm. He waved her off, stumbling backwards. But he slipped and collapsed back into his chair. One of the blades impaled him through the shoulder. His whole body trembled. In that moment, everyone understood.

The king was dying.

Arya would remember the next few moments for the rest of her life, nearly as clearly as the day of her father's execution. As Joffrey coughed and twitched and bled on the throne, the King's Guard rushed to his side. Robb took a step back and his guards closed in around him on instinct. The nobles screamed and murmured.

And as Arya looked out among them, she saw Jaqen, standing in the midst of the crowd, looking right at her. He raised his finger and tapped just under his eye.

 _Cut it very close, didn't you?_ Arya thought.

Slowly she looked back to Joffrey, still writhing on his throne, blood streaming from his nose and mouth and eyes. Arya could not quite describe how powerful she felt then. Watching the life leave the wretched boy. Watching him bleed.

Over two years ago he had asked for her father's head. And by speaking his name, Arya had reaped vengeance upon him.

How sweet it tasted.

A few seconds later, the moment ended, and Joffrey went still on the throne. Cersei fell to her knees beside him, her face twisted with grief. It was amazing to Arya...that anyone could love such a monster. But still she felt the grim satisfaction of victory.

 _This is how it feels, Cersei. When someone rips away something you love. Does it hurt? Do you understand?_

But the satisfaction vanished as Cersei looked up at her brother.

"Your people planned this," she hissed. "You did this."

Robb straightened. "No. We didn't. We only just arrived in the capital. How could we have done anything to the king?"

"Liars. You did. This is your doing," Cersei screeched. "Guards. Arrest them at once. They plotted to kill the king. _Arrest them_."

 _No,_ Arya thought. _They didn't. It wasn't them._

But she could not say a word.

Joffrey Baratheon was dead. Arya's third name.

But Robb was still in danger.

* * *

 _ **A/N: On one hand, Joffrey is dead. On the other...the north looks more than a little guilty. Whoops. Hopefully Tywin wakes up soon to fix this situation.**_

 _ **It must be very stressful to read this story. I keep on hitting you with awful cliffhangers. I promise they'll slow down soon to give you a break :) Be sure to review, subscribe etc. and I'll see you next time!**_


	22. Chapter 22: Not Today

_**A/N: I know last chapter was shorter, and also left on a cliffhanger. Good news is, today's chapter is long and resolves lots of things! Yay. Arya has to figure out how to save Robb in the chaos caused by Joffrey's death. Will she succeed? Read to find out. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 22: Not Today**

Arya expected to feel relieved when Joffrey died. Instead, she felt equal parts terrified and furious. Furious at herself for not predicting this and furious at Jaqen for engineering this death at the worst possible time. She let Jaqen know as much when she found him waiting for her in the practice room.

"Why then? Why exactly at that moment?" she snapped. "You could have poisoned Joffrey so that he died long before Robb arrived. You could have made it look like he snapped his neck falling down the stairs."

"I told a girl that the time of death was not certain," Jaqen said. "Neither was the method. Only death of the name. And that I have given you."

"You may have killed my brother in the process," Arya muttered. "And me, if Cersei decides I was involved."

For now at least, Cersei had not turned her eyes on Arya. Perhaps because she saved her son and father in the past. That made her look innocent enough, but she didn't expect that to last forever.

"If a girl worries for herself, then perhaps she should take the chance to escape," Jaqen said. "She could come with me across the narrow sea."

"What would I do there?" Arya asked.

"Learn the ways of the faceless men. Learn to do as I do."

Arya swallowed hard. "Is that why you killed Joffrey then? Did you hope to force my hand? Did you hope I would have no choice but to flee with you?"

"A man does not hope. A man simply does as the Many Faced God bids. And perhaps the Many Faced God sees potential in you."

That was an interesting thought indeed. Faceless men had no trouble in eliminating any man, from peasants to kings. If Arya wanted to finish her list, going with Jaqen might help her.

And yet...

"I won't abandon my family," Arya said. "They still need me. And I'm going to fix this mess you made."

"A girl is quick to place blame. She is the one who gave the name," Jaqen's mouth quirked.

"My mess then." Arya lifted her chin. "I'll learn of death on my own terms, Jaqen. Not from your god."

"If that is what a girl wants, so be it," Jaqen held out his hand. In his palm rested a coin. "But if she changes her mind...find a Bravosi and show him this coin. Then say the words: Valar Morghulis."

"Valar Morghulis?" Arya repeated.

"Yes. All men must die," Jaqen said. "If you learn nothing else of death...Learn that." He tipped his hand and let the coin drop into her palm. "Goodbye, girl."

Then he left her there, in the room, with a coin and an awful truth.

 _Valar Morghulis. All men must die._

"But not yet," Arya muttered. "Not today."

* * *

Tyrion could not imagine more of a mess than the current situation. His father still recovering from attempted assassination, the king dead, his sister raging through the castle and the northerners locked and heavily guarded in their rooms. Cersei was sure of their guilt. The past two assassination attempts told her that the north was to blame.

Yet Tyrion knew now that Robb Stark had nothing to do with any of the attempts. Because Arya Stark's theory was _very_ likely correct.

"Lord Baelish has been meeting quite often with the king," Varys told him. "He has an excuse for every time. Discussing the finances of the kingdom. Discussing a possible alliance with the Vale. But..."

"But he could have been discussing these matters with the small council. Or my father, who wields the real power in this keep," Tyrion said. "Joffrey doesn't have a mind for strategy. He has a mind for violence. But he knew he needed someone subtle to help him kill my father, so he reached out to Littlefinger."

"Littlefinger does share his taste for chaos," Varys said. "There is nothing linking Littlefinger to the assassins or the poison. He has been very careful. It's still only a theory." He shrugged. "But it is a theory I like. The Stark girl is proving to be rather shrewd."

"More shrewd than her father certainly," Tyrion said. "What do you think Lord Stark would say if he could see his daughter now?"

"I don't pretend to know the thoughts of a dead man," Varys said.

"You pretend to know the thoughts of all living men. Why not dead ones?" Tyrion asked.

Varys' mouth twitched. "Lord Eddard Stark would fear greatly for his daughter. Not for her life though. He'd fear your father's impact on her."

Tyrion exhaled. "That's fair. I fear that too."

Arya already had a wolfish ruthlessness to her. He saw it in her eyes when she had glared at the king, or stared down his father, or even during a game of Cyvasse. But it was wild. Untamed. If his father managed to teach her true control-if she combined her tenacity with his mind-she would be damn unstoppable.

"The poison used to kill Joffrey was different. So I doubt Littlefinger was the culprit," Varys continued. "He would have used the same poison to cast blame on the northerners. Besides, this was a slow acting poison. It must have been served to Joffrey a day before his death. Lord Stark and his men had not arrived yet."

"No. The first two assassination attempts are different from the third," Tyrion said. "Which is troubling. That means there's some other, unknown murderer running about." He looked up at Varys. "I'd hoped your little birds would have seen something."

"Alas, they have not. This assassination was far more efficient than most. Clearly carried out by a professional," Varys said. "I will keep my many ears open though."

"Good," Tyrion said. "Cersei will want to blame someone for Joffrey's death. Right now the north is the easy target. If we manage to convince her that Robb Stark had nothing to do with this...well she'll find another target. Maybe the Stark girl. Maybe me. It depends on how she's feeling that day. It would be nice if we had the true assassin to blame."

King's Landing truly was an awful sort of place. Not a few months went by without someone trying to kill someone else. The Starks, the Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Targaryens. Not a single one of the great families had good luck in this god forsaken place.

Tyrion resented his father for shoving him out of power, but the mere fact that Tyrion was still alive, with only a scar on his face-that was something to celebrate.

* * *

Two days after the death of the king, Tyrion came to Arya with two pieces of good news.

"Grand Maester Pycelle says my father's survival is a near certainty now. He's woken up more than once. And Varys believes your theory holds some water," he reported. "However, there is no evidence. Lord Baelish is too careful to leave traces of that."

"Of course not," Arya muttered. "It's not enough that Varys _believes_ me. We need proof to convince Cersei that Robb is not to blame."

"True. Even then, she may choose not to hear us," Tyrion said. "I'm not sure who she hates more."

"You," Arya said. "She _did_ hate me more, but then I saved Tommen."

"True. The point is: Cersei won't listen to reason from us."

"But she will listen to your father," Arya said. "If we can convince him of my theory."

"Correct," Tyrion said. "Even he will require some kind of proof. He does not want to fall back into war with the north, but he can't be seen releasing a traitor to the crown either. That will make him look weak."

Arya swallowed hard, pacing back and forth as she tried to think of some sort of solution. Could she forge proof? No, she had no idea how to go about that. But maybe...

"What if Littlefinger confessed?" Arya asked.

Tyrion gave her a look. "That would never happen. Put Littlefinger on trial and he'll lie better than any man."

"You're right," Arya said. "So he can't know he's on trial."

Tyrion titled his head to the side. "You have some kind of scheme in mind, don't you, Lady Arya?"

"A scheme. And a gamble," Arya said. "But it's something."

* * *

Tywin had not expected to wake. In the twist of feverish dreams, he thought he was already dead and plunging toward the seven hells. He had accepted that. And yet the pain of the poison burning through his body kept him on the edge of life. He waited for it to kill him at last. It never did.

His dreams we full of faces long dead and rotting in the ground. The Reynes and the Tarbecks who he had crushed for their disloyalty to the house of Lannister.

Aerys, his close friend turned mad enemy, who his son had run through with his sword.

Robert Baratheon, who had taken the throne as a heroic, warrior king, and died from his own stupidity. He had started the war on a noble cause, but he didn't have any complaints about the children Tywin's men had slaughtered. It was all perfectly fine with him that they had died and eased his rise to power...so long as someone else had played the villain.

Ned Stark, who had cemented the war of the five kings with his death. How the honorable Lord Stark had always hated Tywin. He believed in honor to the very end. In a meaningless set of principles that men used to make themselves feel decent. And hated Tywin because he understood how the world really worked.

Tywin's father, Tytos Lannister, the laughing lion. He had believed in the good of people, which was almost worse than believing in honor. People had used him his whole life and he laughed through it all as if it meant _nothing_. Tywin had cleaned up every bit of damage he wrought with ruthless efficiency. He had hated that smile of his at times. And missed it at others.

Johanna. Seven hells, how he had always tried not to think of her, but in the grips of fever, how could he not? He distrusted laughter and smiling, yet she seemed to force it from him with her wit. She was the one weakness he ever allowed himself and he suffered for that. Because the gods, if they existed, could sniff out weakness like the sharpest of hounds.

It seemed impossible that Tywin had lasted this long, surviving past every one of his old friends and past so many of his enemies. The Targaryens, the Baratheons, the Greyjoys, the Reynes, the Tarbecks. How many more houses could he possibly outlast before something killed him? It would not have surprised him if he did not wake up.

And yet...he did.

The first time he woke, he was barely aware of anything around him. Grand Maester Pycelle was speaking to him, but he didn't hear a word of it. The second time he woke he was more lucid. He recalled Pycelle explaining to him that his chances were improving every day. The third time he woke, Jaime was sitting beside him, telling him that the king was dead. Killed by poison. Cersei had locked up Robb Stark and the men who had come with him.

" _You're gone for a week and the world seems to fall apart,"_ Jaime said. _"If we can't find someone else to blame, there's no way we'll avoid war with the north."_

No. One way or another, someone was always trying to pick a fight. That was how men were. His father never saw it. Never wanted to. It was up to Tywin to see the truth and clean up for the mess of fools.

The fourth time he woke, he forced himself to stand and dress, because remaining in bed for one moment longer was an intolerable idea to him. He had just finished with the final buttons on his tunic when Tyrion entered.

"Should you be walking?" he asked.

"The danger is gone. So yes, I assume so," Tywin said.

"Good," Tyrion said. "Come with me then."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Where?"

Tyrion sighed. "I know it's very difficult for you. But just this once: trust me. You won't regret it."

Trust. Tywin didn't trust anyone. But he would rather follow his disappointment of a son than stay in this room any longer.

"Fine then."

* * *

Arya waited in her practice room, her hands shaking and her heart ramming against her chest. She was waiting for a visitor who might not come. And in the silence, she rehearsed her lies over and over again in her head.

Arya Stark was not a liar by nature. Her father had taught her honesty. So she did not lie about her feelings or her thoughts. Sometimes she lied about her actions, but only when she feared getting caught.

Today, she had to lie, many times. And she had to make a trained liar believe them.

The behind her opened and she whirled around as Lord Baelish entered. She let her nerves carry her over to him.

"Lord Baelish. You came." She glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Did anyone see you?"

"It is likely," Lord Baelish said. "This place is not as secret as you think. Many people know you come here."

Arya bit at the inside of her cheek, trying to look nervous. Really, she did not have to act.

"You needn't worry. No one is listening to us right now," Lord Baelish said. "Check in the hall if you'd like."

"I don't need to." Arya swept past him and closed the door. "I won't bother with small talk, Lord Baelish. My brother is imprisoned and I need your help to set him free."

Lord Baelish raised an eyebrow. "Do you? And why would I help you with that? He is Cersei's number one suspect for all of these assassinations that have been happening."

"But you know he didn't do it," Arya said.

"Do I?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Because you're the one who arranged them." Littlefinger's eyes narrowed only slightly and she hurried on. "Don't worry. I haven't mentioned it to anyone. It's not that I really mind that you try to kill Lord Tywin. Or that you killed the king. I hated Joffrey and Lord Tywin is my captor. Since he is still recovering, this may be my only chance to escape this city."

Littlefinger observed her. "Escape? You know well enough that if your brother and you escaped, that would start a war."

"Then it starts a war," Arya said. "Winter is nearly upon us. The Starks can outlast the Lannisters in the cold. I don't mind a war if I can return to my family. I don't mind a war if Robb lives."

"And why would I help you? Perhaps I want peace," Littlefinger said.

"No you don't," Arya said. "There's no chaos in peace. Chaos creates an opportunity, right?"

"Clever girl. You absorb every word you hear," Littlefinger said. "Your right. I don't want peace. And neither did the king. Everything I did was on his orders you see."

"Except for killing him," Arya said.

"I didn't kill him. That was someone else. Though I suppose that someone else only played more into my plans. I did hope he might die...one way or another." Littlefinger studied her. "Tell me, if you wanted Lord Tywin dead, why did you protect him?"

"Because I thought I needed him to keep my brother alive," Arya said. "I won't need him anymore if you help us escape. Please. I'll do...I'll do whatever you need."

"What makes you think I need anything from you?" Littlefinger asked.

Arya looked down at her feet. "I don't know. But I'm willing to kill if I have to."

"Brave of you," Littlefinger said. "A Stark who does not mind their abilities being used for a dishonorable purpose. You're not much like your father."

Arya glared up at him. "Family comes before honor. I'll do one thousand dishonorable things to protect them."

Littlefinger smirked. He was starting to buy into her game. She could see it happening little by little. He was intrigued. "I may be able to help you. But only if my investments are assured. This war between the Starks and the Lannisters will never happen if Lord Tywin lives."

Arya swallowed slowly and deliberately. "So you want me to kill him."

"Yes. And in the chaos, perhaps that creates an opportunity for you and your brother to slip away," Littlefinger said. "I can't make promises for the other north men of course."

"Fine," Arya said. "Robb comes first."

"You're a ruthless little thing, aren't you? Those are your people."

"People die every day. And I only have so much room in my heart to care."

Littlefinger chuckled. "So cold. Your father would chide you for such a comment."

Arya glared at him. "My father is dead. He can't chide me for anything anymore because Joffrey killed him."

"And now Joffrey is dead too. You must feel happy for that."

"I'll feel better when my brother is safe," Arya said. "So...Joffrey ordered you to arrange for Tommen and Lord Tywin's deaths? Lord Tywin I understand but...his own little brother?"

"Joffrey has never had fond feelings for the boy. And this war of five kings made him paranoid about brothers. Perhaps watching Stannis and Renly inspired him," Littlefinger said. "And he thought it would be easier to blame the north if two members of the family died. The beloved prince and the ruthless hand."

"What did he promise you?" Arya asked.

"Wealth and power beyond my wildest dreams. I believe he meant to give me Winterfell. He was very confident that he could destroy the Starks," Lord Baelish shrugged. "Who knows if he would have succeeded? But I would have found my way regardless."

"Because Lord Tywin wouldn't be there to keep an eye on you," Arya said.

"Yes, he's never really trusted me," Littlefinger admitted. "Nor has he thought much of me. I'm not from a powerful family you see. In any case, it will be easier to move when he's gone. I'm sure you agree."

"I do." Arya couldn't keep the smile from her face then. "Thank you, Lord Baelish."

The door opened them and Tyrion entered, followed closely behind by Ser Bronn. "Yes, thank you Lord Baelish. Your honesty is much appreciated.

Littlefinger looked startled to see Tyrion, but he shockingly kept his composure. "Lord Tyrion. Up to your old tricks again?"

"I've told you before. Trick makes it seem like we have a playful relationship. And we don't," Tyrion said.

"No. You're right," Littlefinger said. "And we'll have even less of one when I tell your sister that you conspired with the northerners in these assassinations, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion smiled. "Will you?"

"Oh yes. I guarantee she'll take my word over yours," Littlefinger said.

"Yes, probably," Tyrion agreed, gesturing toward the door. "And what about his word?"

At that very moment, Lord Tywin stepped through the doorway. And then the blood drained from Lord Baelish's face. Arya was not sure she had ever seen the Lord of Lannister's true anger until that moment. It wasn't loud. It wasn't violent. It was cold, silent, and inevitable as winter. When he looked at Littlefinger, his stare was like a death sentence. And the man knew it.

Still he tried to lie his way out of it.

"Lord Tywin. What you heard...It was a lie. I was only playing along with the girl. I meant to tell you of her treachery as soon as she finished."

Tywin did not reply. He kept on staring Baelish down, unblinking.

"Anything I did...I did for the king. On the king's orders. It's not my place to disobey the king."

"Was asking Arya to take my lord father's life on the king's orders? Because Joffrey is dead," Tyrion reminded him.

Littlefinger's frantic gaze went from Tywin to Arya. She held his gaze, her expression set like a stone.

"I told you, Lord Baelish. I want nothing from you. You should have remembered."

Littlefinger started to say something else-started to attempt another lie-but Tywin spoke before he could. "Don't. It's pathetic that you would even try. I've heard everything I need from you."

"Me too," Tyrion said. "Bronn. Would you be so kind as to escort Lord Baelish to a black cell?"

"Be glad to," Bronn said, strolling forward. "Want me to take his tongue as well? He likes to talk."

"It does not matter either way. His words are inconsequential," Tywin said flatly.

Petyr Baelish did not reply to that. For once in his life, he realized that his silver tongue had failed him. And Arya enjoyed watching Bronn march him away.

Tyrion looked at Arya. "That was a brilliant performance."

"You gave me half of the words," Arya muttered, finally letting out a breath. It had worked. She could hardly believe it worked.

"Not all of them though. You added some wonderful touches," Tyrion said. "I almost believed you myself."

Arya's mouth twitched. She ventured a cautious glance at Lord Tywin. His fury was slow to recede, but for once that fury wasn't directed at Tyrion.

"When did you suspect Lord Baelish?" he asked him.

"I suspect Lord Baelish of everything," Tyrion said. "But it was Arya who suspected him of this particular treachery. Something Littlefinger said on the night of your assassination prompted her theory. I investigated and found hints that she might be right, but we knew we would have to coax a confession out of him. It all worked out well."

"Yes. It did. It gives us a culprit for the attempt on Tommen's life and mine," Tywin said. "Better to blame him for it all. If we blame Joffrey it will make our house looked divided and weak."

"Shall we blame him for the king as well?" Tyrion asked.

"For now, that will satisfy the populace. Though it's clear he didn't do it. We may have another assassin running about the castle." Tywin looked back to Arya. "Do you have any theories on who killed the King?"

Panic spiked through Arya and it took everything in her not to raise her chin then. "No. Not yet."

In her head the truth screamed loud and clear. _It was me. I ordered it. I killed him._ But she hoped she could get away with one more lie that day.

* * *

Tywin cleaned up the situation quickly. He pulled Cersei back from the ledge of fury and presented her with the real culprit for the first two assassinations. Even she could not refute the confession. But the idea that Joffrey had tried to kill Tommen seemed to shatter something inside of her.

"He was always so difficult. So impulsive. Cruel," she muttered. "But Tommen. Why Tommen? Tommen never did a single thing to him in his life."

"No, but he was his heir," Tywin said. "And Joffrey did not want any competition for the throne."

Grief over Joffrey's death and rage that he had tried to kill her youngest son, seemed to conflict. But still, Cersei was determined to find Joffrey's true murderer. For now, it was easiest to place the blame on Littlefinger. But they knew well enough it wasn't him, and Cersei would not rest until she found the actual culprit.

"I'll find who did it. Whatever Joffrey did, he was king. Whoever killed him must pay the price. I'll find them."

"As a mother, that's your right. I won't stand in your way."

Once Cersei's rage was redirected from the north men, Tywin had them released at once. They had only been imprisoned for a few days. Not enough time to start a war. Robb would be able to prevent the conflict with a single raven, and he did.

At Tommen's coronation, he swore loyalty to the new king, and this time, there were no foolish attempts to start a war. Tommen was gracious and kind, as a king should be. He apologized for how Robb Stark was treated, and Robb seemed more than willing to accept.

"I am sorry for your brother's death, your grace," he lied when he knelt. "But I am sure you will be a good and wise king."

Only moments after he swore loyalty, Robb and his men made preparations to leave. They did not want to stay in the capital another moments when they so nearly lost their heads.

"You have my apologies for this catastrophe," Tywin told Robb that afternoon in the courtyard. The young wolf was quick to saddle his horse. "I'm afraid someone was hoping to start the war anew."

"Aye. It seems you don't have as much control over this place as you thought," Robb said flatly.

Tywin's eyes narrowed, but he did not rise to the challenge. Technically, the boy was correct. He had underestimated Joffrey's stupidity. "The matter is handled now. And you are free to go home. Your loyalty is to Tommen from this day forward. I expect that you prefer him as a king to Joffrey."

"Is that a trick question?" Robb asked.

"No," Tywin said. "Everyone will prefer him."

Robb's brow furrowed. "Joffrey was your grandson."

"Yes. He was my grandson. And he was childish, bloodthirsty and unpredictable. One's bloodline does not make them fit to rule. That's why your father fought in Robert's Rebellion in the first place," Tywin said. "And why you raised your banners two years ago. I do not believe you will have reason to take up arms against Tommen."

"Even if I did, my sister would die for it," Robb said. He looked up. Arya stood on the balcony a few stories above, watching her brother leave. She was clearly relieved to see him heading north again, alive. Yet there was nervousness to her. She had been nervous ever since Tywin woke again.

"I noticed a bandage on her shoulder," Robb continued. "She was injured. How?"

The boy's tone was neutral, but Tywin could hear the bite beneath the words.

"Do you think I stabbed her, Lord Stark?" Tywin asked. "She stepped between King Tommen and an assassin's blade. She has a bad habit of getting caught up in dangerous situations."

The boy's shoulders relaxed a bit as he recognized his sister wasn't being physically abused. "That's been her way since she was a child. Whenever there was a fight she would try to join in. She would defend Jon and me, even though we were twice her size."

"She has a protective nature," Tywin agreed. "It seems to be a Stark family trait."

"Yes." Robb said firmly. There was a warning in his eyes and voice. "It is."

Tywin looked back to the young wolf. "Don't worry for your sister. She will be safe here."

"No one is safe here. You weren't safe here," Robb pointed out.

"No," Tywin said. "None the less, I will do everything in my power to keep her alive and unharmed...so long as you play your role as Warden of the North."

After a long pause, Robb nodded. "We still have peace, Lord Tywin. I am in no mood to fight anymore."

"None of us are," Tywin said. "Safe travels, Lord Stark."

Robb nodded. He raised his hand in one last farewell to Arya. "We'll see each other again."

The girl smiled and waved in return. "Someday soon."

She lingered there until Robb and his men had left the courtyard. Then she glanced down at Tywin one more time when she noticed him watching her. That nervousness seemed to spike in her eyes again. She gave him a nod and backed into the shadows.

She was hiding something. Keeping some dangerous secret. Tywin could see it in her eyes and in the hitch of her shoulders when she looked at him.

Arya was a better liar than most Starks, but she still had a great deal to learn.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So, Tywin's back and Robb is safe, which is all great news. But on the other hand, Arya is sitting on an awful secret, and Cersei knows that Littlefinger is not the one who killed Joffrey. So fun times all around. But at least I'm going to cool it on the cliffhangers for a little while, lol.**_

 _ **I like writing Tywin's thought process as it's extremely challenging to get inside his mind. So it was fun to write his thoughts this chapter. Also, Arya and Tyrion teaming up is always great as well. Hope you enjoyed and see you all Monday!**_


	23. Chapter 23: Confessions

_**A/N: We have another long chapter today, cause I'm nice. Also, a chapter with a LOT of major conversations. Tyrion, Margaery, Olenna, Tommen and Tywin all feature in this chapter so enjoy the character moments :)**_

 **Chapter 23: Confessions**

Saying goodbye to Robb had been difficult for Arya, but it was considerably easier than watching him lose his head. Robb was rather overwhelmed by everything since he had arrived in the capitol. It had been one shocking turn of events after another.

"I don't know how you've survived this place for so long," Robb had said before he left. "Nothing sits still and someone is always dying."

"Not all the time," Arya said. "Just...mostly. But like I promised, everything turned out fine."

"You couldn't keep a promise like that," Robb said. "It was dumb luck that things didn't spiral out of control."

 _No,_ Arya thought. _It was by design._

But she could not tell Robb the truth. She did not trust anyone with the truth. Kingslaying was a great crime, even if the king was hated. Jaime Lannister had taught her that much. And she didn't want her older brother to look at her any differently.

From the balcony overlooking the courtyard, she watched Robb talking to Lord Tywin one last time. And she watched him leave. He was scarcely out of sight and already she missed him.

But better he be far away from her than trapped in this vipers nest.

Below, Lord Tywin was watching her again, his gaze unreadable. Arya felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle and a little voice whispered in the back of her mind: _He knows. He's found you out._

 _He can't know,_ she thought.

 _But he suspects._

Arya swallowed hard and gave the Lord of Lannister a nod before backing into the shadows, out of his view.

Joffrey had tried to kill Tywin, but he was the king and he was his grandson. If he found out...well he might see her as a true danger-too much trouble to keep around.

She could not trust anyone with this truth.

* * *

The next few days were surprisingly quiet. Following Tommen's coronation and Robb's departure, Arya felt as if she could breathe again. She stayed well out of Cersei's way, because she was still eager to find Joffrey's true killer. And she stayed well out of Tywin's way because his gaze threatened to draw out all of her secrets.

Instead she spent time with people who did not suspect her of regicide. Tyrion was one. He was in a rather good mood following Lord Baelish's imprisonment.

"Even father can't quite find a reason to hate me right now," Tyrion said. "I helped find his attempted murderer. He has to pay that debt by not saying anything insulting. At least for a few days."

"You two have an awful relationship," Arya observed, making her next move in Cyvasse. This game was lasting longer than usual, and she was doing rather well. She had chosen to use the broken king this time for her play. She felt sorry that it never got any use. Maybe it was good luck.

Tyrion raised his glass of wine. "That we do."

Bronn smirked from the other side of the room, where he cleaned his nails with his knife. "Half of Lord Tyrion's personality is built on that tense relationship. If you took that away, what would be left?"

"My charming personality? My skill at drinking games?" Tyrion asked.

"Your charming personality is your defense against your father insulting you. And you drink because you don't feel loved," Bronn said.

Tyrion glared at him. "You're beginning to know me too well. Maybe I should replace you."

"You won't though."

"I can do whatever I want."

"Aye. But you won't."

"Shut up. Podrick, more wine!"

Podrick hurried to obey. The poor boy was so quiet and kind compared to most people in King's Landing. Like Tommen, but without being royalty. Arya wondered how well Tommen was adjusting to life as a royal. She hadn't seen him lately, because he had been so busy with suddenly becoming king.

"I should thank you for keeping him drunk today, Pod," Arya told Podrick as she made her next play.

Tyrion gave her a look. "And why's that?"

Arya sat back in her seat. "Because I just won."

"You..." Tyrion's brow furrowed and he sat forward in his seat to look closer. "Well, fuck me. You did. How did you do that?"

"Wine and talking about your father distracts you," Arya smirked. "The strategy goes beyond the board."

Bronn snickered. "See. We all have you figured out, Lannister."

Tyrion sighed, looking up at Arya. "You are becoming very dangerous, Lady Stark."

Arya bit back a smile. "Dangerous? For winning a game?"

"Yes," Tyrion said. "Like you said: Games go beyond the board."

Arya swiped up the broken king piece, rubbing her thumb along it's cracked crown. "I suppose they do."

* * *

Besides visiting with Tyrion, Arya spent an awful lot of time in the gardens: one place that Tywin _never_ was. In the gardens, she met often with Margery, who seemed in good spirits despite her mourning attire for Joffrey. Arya wondered just how relieved she was that he was dead.

"I must apologize to you, of course," Margery said. "My grandmother and father will try to engage me to Tommen now. I'm afraid I may have stolen your betrothed."

"We were never officially promised," Arya said. "And you know I don't mind. Tommen will be happy with you."

"He may have been happy with you as well," Margery said. "And this has cost you the title of queen."

"A title I did not want at all," Arya said. "Being queen is a terrifying idea. I can't even imagine being responsible for the crown." She made a face. "And I would have to bare heirs for the throne."

Margery laughed. "That's true. I will have many responsibilities. But I've been training for them my whole life." She patted Arya's arm. "I'm sure you will find another good match."

"Lord Tywin will find one, you mean." Arya sighed. "I won't have a choice in the matter."

Margaery gave her a sympathetic smile. "Well, I doubt he will give you to someone awful."

"Why wouldn't he?" Arya asked.

"He was willing to marry you to his grandson. That was a very good match. He won't toss you away just anywhere."

That was likely true. But for now, Arya preferred to revel in being unengaged. And she was more worried about Tywin discovering her hand in Joffrey's death than giving it away in marriage.

It was in those days after that Margaery introduced her to her grandmother, Olenna Tyrell of High Garden. She had come to the capitol to help plan the wedding of Margaery and Joffrey, and would now stay to change that wedding to Margaery and Tommen. They called her the Queen of Thorns, and after known the old woman for only a minute, she saw that she had earned her title.

"By the way Cersei talked of you, I thought you would be half a wolf, foaming at the mouth and screeching for blood," Olenna Tyrell said. "But you clean up well enough, don't you? And you're a tiny thing."

"Just because I'm tiny doesn't mean I'm not a wolf," Arya responded automatically.

Olenna smirked. "Well, you have a tongue on you at any rate. A wonder that Lord Tywin has allowed that."

Arya held her gaze. "I don't need to be _allowed_ to do anything."

"Oh, you do. You're a ward and a hostage for House Lannister," Olenna said. "Which means, somehow, that old lion must not mind your sharp edges."

Arya did not know how to retort to that. Of course, if Tywin did not like her behavior, he could have ended it quickly. Her practices with needle. Her retorts. Her honesty. He let her keep all of them. She might not ever fully understand why.

"Well, you don't quite look comfortable in a dress," Olenna continued. "But you'll grow up to be a beauty."

Arya's brow furrowed at that. "I don't think that's true."

"Are you accusing me of lying, girl?" Olenna tilted her head to the side. "Plenty of young ladies your age look like boys in the wrong clothes. But a few years can make a great deal of difference." She went back to her food. "Have you bled yet?"

Arya felt the heat rise to her cheeks. No one had ever asked that question of her. She knew moon's blood was the sign of becoming a woman. Part of her hoped it would never come.

"Grandmother. Don't interrogate the girl," Margaery said with a little laugh.

"I'm not interrogating. I'm asking." Olenna glanced up at Arya. "Well?"

"No," Arya murmured.

Olenna seemed unbothered by this. "Once you do, your body will change a great deal more. Your dresses will begin to flatter you, if you choose the right ones. Margaery should be able to help you."

"I would be honored to help," Margaery said. "I think you would look quite good in blue Lady Arya. Blue and green perhaps." She glanced at her grandmother. "She has the right color for Highgarden, don't you think?"

"Yes, yes," Olenna said. "A budding flower."

Arya had never been compared to a flower in her life. It was always Sansa whose good looks and grace were praised. She could never imagine being a true beauty.

Then again, Lady Olenna did not seem like one to lie.

She enjoyed the company of the Queen of Thorns, and of Margaery. The royal wedding was only a fortnight off, and it seemed the whole of the court was eager to move on from the war and Joffrey. They wanted to embrace this new, kinder king. Tommen Baratheon. The boy who wouldn't order the murder of babies who shared his blood.

Arya met with that kinder king a week after her coronation. He was walking through the garden, flanked by two King's Guard. When he noticed Arya, he smiled. The expression seemed more strained than usual.

"Lady Arya...It's been too long since we've seen each other."

"It's a busy time for you...your grace." She was quick to curtsy. "I have not yet congratulated you on your coronation. My apologies."

"Not much to congratulate. I didn't earn it. I only have the crown because my brother died," Tommen murmured.

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. Yes, and she had killed that brother to make it happen. Tommen could never know the role that she played in all of this.

"I'd like to speak to Lady Arya alone," Tommen told his Kingsguard. "Just for a short while."

"Your mother instructed us not to leave you unattended," Ser Osric said.

"I won't be long. Besides, Lady Arya has defended me against attackers before," Tommen raised an eyebrow. "Do you still have your knife?"

"I always do," Arya said.

"Then I have nothing to fear," Tommen looked back to his Kingsguard. "Watch me at a distance if it pleases you."

The guards nodded and continued on their way. When they were gone, Tommen exhaled. "I am glad to see you again, my lady. I missed our walks through the garden. Things were much simpler then."

"I don't think anything has been simple in my life for a while, your grace," Arya said. "But yes. You're right." She tilted her head to the side, studying him. He seemed to have aged since she last saw him. "Are you alright?"

Tommen shook his head once. "This crown...it doesn't fit me. It was made for my brother originally. They're still working on a new crown. A proper one for a boy with a smaller head." He twisted one of his rings around his finger. "I was never supposed to wear any crown. I never hoped to be king. I never wanted it."

"I know," Arya murmured. Tommen, like her, did not have ambition for the crown. But she would not be made to wear one. He had no choice.

"So why..." Tommen looked up at the sky. "Why do you think my brother tried to kill me?"

Arya didn't reply. She didn't know what to say. "I...wasn't aware they told you."

"Mother didn't want to," Tommen said. "But grandfather insisted on being honest with me. He said that kings often have to face difficult truths. They face the truth and they use wisdom to deal with it. But...how can I deal with it if I can't understand why? I didn't want to take his crown so why did he...?"

"Because your brother was cruel," Arya muttered. "That's why. He was cruel and he wanted another war to keep him entertained. And you were a means to an end." She looked up at Tommen. "It's not a nice 'why', but it is the truth."

"See, you're better at dealing with difficult truths than I am," Tommen's mouth twitched. "I think...you would have made a good queen."

Arya shook her head once. "No. Lady Margaery will do a better job than I, Prince Tommen. A Queen needs to be well loved. I'm not good at making people love me."

"Hmm," Tommen scuffed his boot against the ground. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's more important to rule well than to be loved. And I don't know how to rule well. I'm not...prepared for this. I can't..."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "Don't say another word, your grace. Not one more word."

"But..." Tommen looked like he was on the edge of despair and she did not like it. Arya reached out and jabbed him hard in the shoulder.

"Hey. Look at me." He did, surprised that she had pushed him at all. It was perhaps not a smart idea, but she didn't want to see him spiral into uncertainty. "It doesn't matter if you're unprepared. It doesn't matter if you're weak or stupid or anything else. You'll be a better king than your brother because you give half a damn about other people. There's no possible way you can do worse than him. He caused the War of the Five Kings. He was a vicious, awful person. You can punish me for saying it, your grace, but it's true."

"I'm...not going to punish you," Tommen said, bewildered.

"Good." Arya's fists clenched. "Don't punish yourself either. And don't waste anymore thought on him or anymore thought on self doubt. It won't do you any good. You're king now and you have to accept that responsibility. Others will help you fill in the gaps. Your grandfather, your uncles, your mother, your small council. But you _will_ be a good king. And if you're a bad one...well...I'll tell you to your face."

Tommen's lips twitched into a smile. "I hope you will. I hope you won't be afraid of me like you were of my brother."

"I wasn't _afraid_ of your brother," Arya muttered.

"I was," Tommen said. "You're right. He was cruel. And he doesn't deserve my thoughts." He shook his head. "I'm not sure I can stop doubting myself but...I'll make an effort."

"That's a start," Arya said.

Tommen smiled for real this time. A full smile. "We're not engaged any longer, my lady. But...if we happen to be passing each other in the garden..."

"Then we'll talk again." Arya smiled.

He was right, after all. It was simpler back then, walking through the maze. Before the mysterious assassination attempts. The plotting for war.

Before Arya had killed a king.

* * *

Arya's secret pressed at her like a thumb on an open wound. None of these people had any idea. She had nightmares about them finding her out. About being led to execution at the sept of Baelor just like her father before her. About the crowd calling for her blood.

Fear of being caught weighed heavily on her mind-when at last she was called to the Tower of the Hand.

As she climbed the steps, she tried to assure herself that Tywin didn't know. He could be calling her to see him for any number of reasons. After all, if he suspected her, he would have confronted her earlier.

Still, her nails dug into the palm of her hand as she stood before him.

"Your brother has returned safely to Winterfell." Tywin looked up from his letters. "For now, the peace continues."

"For now," Arya agreed. Her voice was soft to her own ears.

"There should be fewer assassinations in the coming months," Tywin said. "You should enjoy that. You always seem to be around when they happen."

Arya shrugged. "It's my bad luck."

"Bad luck for the assassins, perhaps. Rather good luck for their targets," Tywin said. "Unfortunately, our problems are not over yet. If Joffrey was responsible for the attempt on Tommen's life and my life...then someone else was responsible for his poisoning. At least one would assume." He sipped his wine, watching her carefully the whole time. His gaze was unreadable, but it made her skin feel as if it was burning. "We don't know if this new assassin was after Joffrey alone or if he has other targets."

Still, Arya tried to keep her face as impassive as possible. "Do...we have any leads?"

"No. Cersei is still investigating, as one would expect. She is distraught."

Arya knew that much. Cersei was wailing in the throne room when her son fell. As awful as he was, he was her son.

Arya had erased him simply by saying his name.

"And you?" Arya asked. "He was your grandson."

"Yes, and he tried to have me killed," Tywin said. "He would have tried again had he lived. He tried to kill his own brother too, to make sure he had no competing heirs. He tried to recklessly start another war because he thought he would be fun." He shook his head. "It does not bother me that he is gone. It bothers me that we don't know who did it or how they did it."

Arya clasped her hands tightly together, so tightly that her knuckles went pale. "Do you think the investigation will discover anything?"

"Perhaps." Tywin tilted his head to the side. "Does that make you nervous?"

Arya shook her head. "No."

"Then is there another reason you've been acting like a frightened cat since Joffrey died?"

"I'm not acting like a frightened cat. I'm not nervous," Arya snapped.

Tywin was unmoved by her protests. "You were much better at lying to Lord Baelish."

"I'm not...it's not that..." Panic started to press at Arya's throat. Perhaps Lord Tywin did not mind seeing Joffrey go. But still...if he knew that Arya had been the cause, he might try her for the crime all the same. It was treason to kill a king. "I'm not lying."

Tywin indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down."

"I don't want to," Arya said.

"It wasn't a request. Sit. Now."

Arya swallowed hard and obeyed, perching at the edge of the seat. This felt familiar to her. Like the day he first discovered her name. Only this was far more serious.

"Tell me the truth. From the beginning."

"From the beginning..." Arya rubbed her palms together. The beginning was such a long time ago. Almost three years. She had been the Lannister ward for such a long time now.

The beginning was painful and distant.

"Before...I became your cup bearer, I was travelling with a group bound for the Wall," Arya said at last. "There were three men in a cage there. When we were captured by the Mountain's men, they set fire to a lot of the area, and the men in the cage were trapped. I handed them an ax and left.

"One of them found me later at Harrenhal. He had joined the Lannister soldiers. He said that since I had saved three lives, the Many Faced God required three in exchange. I could give him any three names...and he would kill them. That was the deal." Arya looked up at Tywin. "I didn't really believe him at first. It seemed too good to be true. So I gave him the name of one of the torturers. The Tickler, they called him. That same day, he ended up dead with a broken neck. No one saw it happen.

"The second name...I had no choice with that one. I may have... stolen a scroll from your table. I was reading it when one of your soldiers saw me. He was going to tell you. So I gave the man his name. You thought it was an assassination attempt meant for you."

Tywin's eyebrows shot up. "So, that was your doing that day?"

Arya nodded once.

"No real loss. That one was an illiterate idiot," Tywin said. "And then you had a third name to give."

"Yes." Arya held his gaze. "I planned to give him yours."

Tywin's expression did not even shift. It was impenetrable. "Did you?"

"Yes. You were about to ride out. I thought you were going to fight Robb. It seemed like the best choice." She exhaled. "But then you found out who I was and I never got the chance. I never spent that third name."

"That is fortunate for me," Tywin acknowledged. "I assume you're about to tell me where you did spend it."

Arya turned her eyes to her hands. "The man found me again, after I recovered from Joffrey's attack on me. He gave me my knife and reminded me that I had another name to give. But I didn't want to be reckless or hasty like with the first two. There were options. I needed to choose wisely. Then..." she trailed off.

"Then what?" Tywin asked.

"Then you almost died. And I found out that Joffrey was involved. I realized his plan...that he would kill Robb, and no one would be around to stop him." She forced herself to look up at him. "It was an easy decision. I found the man. I gave him Joffrey's name. I don't know how he did it, or what he did. But I know I'm the reason." She almost lifted her chin then, but she stopped herself. She would not show fear. "That's it. That's the truth."

Tywin considered her words for a long while. The silence threatened to swallow Arya, and in that quiet she faltered and dropped his gaze.

"I've heard stories about the faceless men. I've never employed one," Tywin said at last. "Three lives would be expensive for most to buy. You stumbled into your contract by chance."

"Because I saved some men in a cage," Arya murmured. "I didn't expect to get something out of it."

"No. It's never your instinct to leave a man for dead, is it?" Tywin asked.

Arya did not reply. She studied her hands.

"Look at me," Tywin said.

Arya did. His expression was not quite as cold as she expected. There was no anger at all.

"Kingslaying is a great crime," Tywin said. "But, if you told me the truth, it seems you are not the one who poisoned Joffrey."

Arya's brow furrowed. "But I...I'm the one who gave the man..."

"You told the man a name," Tywin said. "That's all. You did not even pay him for his trouble. Let the gods decide if that makes you guilty."

Arya did not even know what to say. This was not the response she expected at all. She had even admitted to wanting to kill him, but he did not seem to care.

"Joffrey could not be controlled. Not by his mother and not by me," Tywin said. "He would have reaped unspeakable damage across the kingdom. More than he did already by taking your father's head. But now that he's gone, we have a more manageable king who will listen to his advisors and practice patience. You've made things a great deal easier for me."

"I didn't do it for you," Arya said.

"I know. None the less, I pay my debts," he said. "Does anyone else know?"

"No," Arya said. "I've told no one."

"Good. Keep it that way. Do not tell even a trusted friend. Do not tell your family. No one can know," Tywin said. "To repay you for keeping us from another war, I will keep your secret. No one will know the part you played in Joffrey's death. For saving my life...I have something else to give you."

Arya looked on curiously as he crossed to the back of the room and lifted a long object, wrapped in red cloth. He carried it to the desk and set it down between them, pulling back the wrapping. It was a sword. One of the most beautiful swords Arya had ever seen in her life. Her breath caught at the very sight of it. Her gaze went from the blade to Tywin.

"I...really?" It was too good to be true. The only one in her life to ever _offer_ her a sword was Jon. And that was a blade for a child. This was not. It was real. It was sharp. This was a knight's blade.

"You're clearly not playing at fighting. And a sword is better protection than that tiny knife," Tywin said. "Don't carry it openly around the keep. You'll get more attention than you want. But it is yours."

Cautiously, Arya stood and lifted the blade. It was surprisingly light for its size. She drew it from its sheath and practiced turning it in her hand a few times. She couldn't help but smile. The hilt fit her hand well and it was perfectly balanced. The blade itself was almost impossibly sharp.

"It looks like Valyrian steel."

"It is," Tywin said. "And it's right that you should have it."

Arya's fingers glided over the flat of the blade. "Why is it right?"

"Because," Tywin said. "It was re-forged from your father's sword."

Arya's eyes widened and she looked up at him. "My father's sword?"

"The original weapon was too large for most men to wield comfortably. You would not have been able to lift it," Tywin said. "That one you can. It's still his blade. Just a different shape."

Arya could not explain the rush of emotion that came over her in that moment. There was anger at first. Anger that anyone would tamper with her father's blade. But at the same time...all her childhood, she had watched her father wield his great sword. He was strong and could swing it with just one hand. She had wanted to be like him.

Swords often passed from parents to children. Arya had asked her mother once if she might have her father's sword one day. _Oh Arya,_ her mother had said. _Your father's sword will go to Robb. You could never manage such a blade. You won't need to. You're a lady of Winterfell, Arya. Others will protect you._

She was a daughter of House Stark, not a son. And therefore, never fit to wield a blade. Only fit to watch as others did.

Now, she held half of her father's sword in her hand. A part of her wanted to cry, but she refused to do so in the presence of the Lord of Lannister.

"You...shouldn't have reforged it," Arya mumbled at last, keeping her head low.

"Yet I did. You can refuse it if you'd like," Tywin said.

"No. It's mine now." She cleared her throat, looking up at him. "It's...beautiful."

Tywin inclined his head. "It pays a debt."

"Since you won't let me go, this is the next best thing," Arya said.

Tywin's lips twitched into a smile. A real smile again. How strange it was to see it. She could not dismiss it as a hallucination or a trick of the light. "I suppose you'll give that sword a name as well?"

Arya observed the blade for a moment, turning over a name in her head. She had named her last sword needle, because it was small and thin. Easily overlooked. This sword was powerful. It came from old steel. The steel long past down through the Stark family. It needed a name to match it.

"Winter's Fury," she said at last.

"A strong name for a strong sword," Tywin said. "Make sure you earn it, Arya Stark."

Arya held his gaze. "I will."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Man, things sure seem resolved and peaceful right now. Let's hope nothing screws it up :D**_

 _ **But at least for the next few chapters things will be a bit more peaceful. I liked a lot of the convos in this chapter, particularly Tywin and Arya's interaction. His giving her a sword as payment of a debt is a major moment for both of them. Hopefully it came across naturally!**_

 _ **As always, review subscribe etc. And for those who are wanting more of the Starks, they will be a major part of the story a couple arcs from now :) Until next time!**_


	24. Chapter 24: The Wedding

**_A/N: Did someone order a chapter where the characters get to breathe for two seconds! Congrats. You get one chapter :D But it's a long one!_**

 ** _In all seriousness, this is one of the more peaceful chapters of this fic. They are rare, I know. But there are a lot of fun character interactions including the appearance of a book-only character who I love dearly and wanted to write. Enjoy!_**

 **Chapter 24: The Wedding**

After a long war and the death of a monarch, a lavish wedding was just the thing to distract the populace at large. The crown had to at least appear in control, and nothing said control like a royal wedding. To the outside world, it showed that King's Landing was still strong and ready to move on from the catastrophe of the past few years.

And technically speaking, they were. The Lannisters, with the help of the Tyrells and the Starks, had managed to quell every stupid rebellion in the country. Traitors had been dealt with and they now had far better king on the throne.

Tywin Lannister never relaxed, but he had fewer things to worry about that day, at least. The Tyrell alliance with the crown gave the crown a sound financial future. It meant paying off the Iron Bank, in time. It meant peace during the rapidly approaching winter.

The wedding itself was excessive. That had been Olenna Tyrell's doing. She insisted that for the wedding to be a proper distraction, it had to be lavish. The kind of event for the common folk to sing about. The Queen of Thorns was paying her share, so Tywin did not press the issue. But he personally did not see the point of such extravagance.

In the garden, where the guests congregated after the ceremony, tables stretched far back past the hedges and food piled high on every surface. The feasting had gone on since this morning, and it was a wonder anyone could still eat.

Those in attendance were lords and ladies from every one of the seven kingdoms. There were a few notable exceptions. None of the north had attended. After the incident a month ago, they had all had enough of the capital. Tywin didn't take it as an insult. The north had more preparations to make for winter than anyone, and the war had left their country in tatters.

Dorne had not attended either, which Tywin knew was meant as an insult. While Tyrion had smoothed things over slightly when he shipped Myrcella off to the southern country, the Dornish had no love of him since the sack of King's Landing.

They weren't preparing for war, at least. Tywin would deal with Prince Dornan at a later date.

Tywin stayed close to the main table for much the feast, mainly to assist Tommen. The boy did not know half of the people who came to wish him well. He was too young and this was all overwhelming to him. His new wife, Margaery, handled the proceedings like she was born to it. Not one hair or smile out of place. She would be the kind of Queen beloved by the people and that might help Tommen to become a beloved king.

"I told you a grand wedding was the way to go," Olenna said from his right.

"Told me? I never said you were right," Tywin said.

"No, you didn't. But I am. Everyone is having a delightful time," Olenna said. "It's as if the war and death of these past few years has been utterly erased."

"Covered up, at the very least," Tywin said. "It's still excessive."

"Some would call it fun," Olenna said. "Have you tried it? Fun? You would think your brush with death would leave you more open to enjoying something."

Tywin gave her a look. "We don't all have time for frivolities."

"Well, congratulations. This is a wedding. A whole day set aside for frivolities."

"Some would call a wedding an important political event."

"Gods, you are such a bore." Olenna sighed, looking out amongst the crowd. "Speaking of weddings with a political purpose: when do you plan on marrying off your ward?"

Tywin followed her gaze and found her watching Arya. She was circling the edge of the gardens, looking like she would rather sneak off through the hedges. She was also the subject of some attention today, simply because she was a Stark. He couldn't imagine she was enjoying it in the least.

"I don't suppose it's your concern, is it?" he replied.

"Tommen was a suitable match before he became king. But Arya wouldn't want to be queen, would she? And you need our alliance more than you need the Starks." Olenna shrugged. "So what to do with her now?"

"You seem like you're about to get to the point," Tywin said.

"You should consider engaging her to Loras," Olenna said. "A second son for a second daughter. It seems a worthy match. He is young and one of the most eligible men in the seven kingdoms."

"And interested in eligible men, if rumors are correct," Tywin said.

"They are," Olenna said. "But he will do his duty, make no mistake. The girl isn't particularly interested in marriage in the first place. I don't think she would mind a husband who is not interested in her."

"Perhaps not," Tywin said. "But handing control of the Starks over to you is a poor political move."

"Do you not trust us, Lord Tywin?"

"I don't trust anyone. I prefer to keep her close. The war is too fresh to do anything else."

Olenna sighed. "As you say. Perhaps in time, when the war is less fresh and the north's loyalty more certain, you'll change your mind."

"I don't make a habit of changing my mind."

"That's true," a voice said from behind him. "I once said something that upset him and he did not speak to me for nearly a year."

Tywin turned to see his sister standing behind him, a wry smile on her face. It had been some years since he had seen Genna. Since before the war started. Longer than that even. They had only grown more distant with every passing year, as they both changed and aged. But beyond that distance, she was the same woman he remembered.

"Don't look so surprised, Tywin. It's my great nephew's wedding. I wouldn't miss it," Genna said.

"You weren't here this morning. I thought you might have," Tywin said.

"We had some dreadful delays on the road. Trouble with the carriage _and_ the Brotherhood. Not to worry. All dealt with," Genna said. "I do apologize for the late arrival. I hope the king won't be offended."

"I'll leave that to him to decide," Tywin said.

Genna glanced at Olenna. "See how cold he is to me, Lady Tyrell, even after all of these years?" She clasped both of Tywin's hands in her own. "Come brother. At least pretend to be glad to see me."

Tywin's mouth barely twitched. In truth, he was glad to see her. Genna was family. Even when they fought, he couldn't dismiss their shared blood. She was his only sister. "You haven't changed."

"You're lying. I've gotten fatter and you know it," Genna looked back to Olenna. "I hope you don't mind if I steal my brother for a moment."

"Be my guest, Lady Genna." Olenna inclined her head and glided back to her seat.

"Come Tywin," Genna looped her arm around his. "Let's enjoy this wedding you paid for."

* * *

One thing Genna always excelled at was talking. She could talk for many hours if no one interjected. Most people dismissed it as womanly gossip. But rarely did Genna talk about unimportant matters. She talked about people, yes, because she _knew_ them. She had a way of seeing right into a man's soul, then laying his every flaw out for the world to see. Sometimes, this was quite useful to Tywin, especially when he needed to exploit a flaw.

"All and all, most of the lords and ladies here seem quite relieved to be away from war," Genna said. "But it's a bit of a different story in the Riverlands."

"Really?" Tywin asked.

"You may recall setting a fair amount of it on fire," Genna said.

"I recall everything I did," Tywin said. "It was war."

"Yes, war. And it leaves unhappy people. But they aren't truly your concern." She looked up at him. "You should be worried about the Frey's though. My father in law and his many, many sons are displeased. They hoped to own the Riverlands after the war, but you did not give it to them."

"There wasn't a need anymore," Tywin said. "Making peace with the north also made peace with the Tullys. If I gave the Riverlands to the Freys then the countryside would have been in an uproar. And the Riverlands banner men would have realized the Frey's treachery."

"Their planned treachery anyway," Genna said. "I don't disagree with you. None the less, be careful. Walder Frey is a vengeful man."

"The Freys are too weak to rebel against the crown," Tywin said. "Especially with the Tyrells on our side."

"I'm not sure," Genna said. "He has enough sons to make his own army." She sighed. "He truly is the worst sort of person. He does fear you. You made him turn white when you were just a child. But don't underestimate him."

Tywin nodded once. "I won't."

"If you ever need to smooth things over with him, you could give him your ward I've heard so much about," Genna continued. "He wanted her to marry one of his grandsons. It could keep him from getting uppity in the future."

"I won't throw a valuable Stark hostage to Walder Frey," Tywin said. "I'd much rather go to war with him."

Genna smirked. "So it's true. You are fond of this girl." Tywin gave her a look and she held up her hands in defense. "Jaime said it first, Tywin. You don't think I talk to my nephew?"

"If you talk to him, convince him to give up on the King's Guard. That's much more useful than you gossiping about the Stark girl," Tywin said.

"Yes, yes. Isn't that her over there?" Genna asked. Arya was indeed standing in the shadows at the other end of the path, avoiding the crowds. "You should call her over. I'd like to meet her."

Tywin sighed. When he caught Arya's eye, he waved her over. She seemed almost relieved to see him, though he supposed he was one of the few faces she knew in this crowd.

"Enjoying the wedding, Lady Arya?" he asked.

"Yes. Except for this party is too long, and people keep trying to talk to me," Arya said. "And I'd really rather skewer myself than have one more person ask me about my traitor father."

"I'd refrain from that," Tywin said. "I hope you left your new toy in your room."

"Yes _of course_ I did. Do you think I want to draw more attention to myself?" Arya grasped the skirt of her blue dress and gave a mock curtsy. "Not to worry my lord. I'm being a perfect little lady today."

Tywin very nearly smiled, but he stopped himself in time. Genna chuckled from beside him and Arya seemed to notice her for the first time.

"Ah...forgive me...my lady, I don't know you. Apologies, I'm bad at courtesies." She curtsied again, this time for real. "My name is Arya Stark."

"Genna Lannister," his sister replied. "I'm Tywin's sister."

Arya blinked rapidly, momentarily caught off guard by this fact. "His sister? I mean, it's a pleasure to meet you, of course. I've heard so much about you."

Genna smirked. "That's a lie. Tywin never talks about his siblings. Don't worry. I'm not offended." She broke away from Tywin and grasped Arya's arm instead. "We'll leave you to your business, Tywin. I know you have many cares. I'd like to speak with Lady Stark."

Tywin resisted the urge to sigh. Of course she did. Genna was going to interrogate the girl until she knew every little thing about her. "Do as you please."

Arya shot him a slightly panicked look as Genna began guiding her down the path. She had clearly been trying to avoid such an encounter with a stranger.

But one would have an easier time escaping a lioness on the hunt than Genna once she had her mind set.

* * *

Arya was aware that Tywin had a sister. She was aware, in fact, that he had four younger siblings. But besides Kevan, she had never met any of them and she didn't really expect to. But now the Lord of Lannister's sister had her by the arm, with seemingly no intention of letting her go.

"My apologies for ambushing you, Lady Stark," Genna said. "But you've made me quite curious. Since my arrival, I've heard your name from Tyrion _and_ Jaime. You've clearly made an impression on my house."

"Your house," Arya repeated. "Forgive me, Lady Genna. You're married aren't you?"

"Yes. To Emmon Frey."

"But you still call yourself Lannister?"

"Most people do anyway," Genna said. "When I was first married, everyone called me Frey. But when you get older, you don't have to care about such customs anymore. And my husband is too witless and weak to enforce the name."

Arya smiled a bit. "Lannister is a stronger name than Frey."

"Yes. More respected. More feared. Tywin saw to that," Genna said. "It wasn't always that way though. My father was a kindly man, but rather weak willed. No one respected him. They laughed behind his back, did not pay their debts. Now, no one would imagine slighting the Lannisters. Just the sound of the Rains of Castamere is enough to make men quake in their boots."

Arya studied Genna. She seemed to like to talk, and there were few people who knew Lord Tywin better. She wondered how many questions about him his sister might answer if she asked.

"Was he always as he is now?" Arya ventured cautiously. "Was he always so..."

"Cold? Dreary?" Genna shook her head. "No. But he was always rather intimidating, even as a child. He was the only one who would stand up for our father. Even _father_ wouldn't do it. And he stood up for the rest of us too." She smiled. "You see, when I was seven years old, my father agreed to betroth me to my current husband Emmon. Emmon was not even Walder Frey's heir. It was an insulting sort of match. But father was eager to please and agreed to it. He announced it at a great feast, with all of the Lords of the westerlands there to hear it. I was terrified by the whole idea.

"Tywin was furious. He stood and declared the match unsuitable. Right in front of Walder Frey. A boy of ten years old. I saw Walder Frey go white as a sheet. You can't imagine the commotion he caused that day." Gemma sighed. "Well, he couldn't break up the match then. Too young. But he grew into that tenacity of his. Now the seven kingdoms live in fear of him."

"You don't," Arya pointed out.

Genna sighed and guided Arya to sit on a stone bench in the rose garden. "Oh, I fear him, child. Make no mistake. I love him dearly, but I fear the man he has become. The best parts of him died a long time ago."

"With his wife?" Arya asked. Genna raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me. I shouldn't ask."

"No, but you already have. I like people who ask questions," Genna said. "Yes. Joanna took the better parts of Tywin with her when she died. I was at Casterly Rock in the aftermath, and I saw how it changed him. Grief did not suit him at all." She glanced at Arya. "That's why we're so distant you see. I saw too much of his weakness that day, and Tywin likes to pretend he has none."

"He would be angry at you for telling me this then," Arya pointed out.

Genna smiled, looking rather pleased with herself. "Yes. He would." She turned toward Arya. "But tell me Lady Arya. I want to know your story. I've given you plenty on my brother. I want to know something about you."

"I'm sure you've heard a lot about me," Arya said.

"The basics, yes. That your father tried to refuse Joffrey the throne and lost his head. That your brother went to war for him. That Tywin used you to end help end that war," Genna said. "But how did you fall into my brother's hands exactly?"

"I was his servant," Arya said. "I was...disguised as a boy at the time, trying to flee the capitol. We were caught and taken to Harrenhal. He noticed I was a girl and decided to take me as a cupbearer. When he found out my true name, he took me as a hostage. I traveled with him from camp to camp until the war ended."

"He kept you close, did he?" Genna asked.

"If he sent me back to King's Landing, Joffrey might have killed me," Arya said. "After the war ended, I came back here with him. It's been over two years now."

"And in those two years, you seem to have rather endeared yourself to my nephews," Genna said. "And to my brother."

"I wouldn't say I've...endeared myself," Arya said.

"Well, I'm a better authority than you. Tyrion has said outright that he likes you. You treat him better than most of the people in his life, so that's not a surprise," Genna said. "Jaime called you stubborn and irritating. So obviously he enjoys your company."

"How is _that_ obvious?" Arya asked.

"Oh, it was his tone when he said it." Genna waved her hand. "And Tywin...Well anyone who knows Tywin even a bit can tell that he favors you. I only saw you talk for half a minute and I could tell."

Arya looked down at her hands. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me that Cersei likes me next."

"Oh, heavens no. She doesn't like you at all," Genna said. "But that's not surprising. You're so much like she was at your age."

Arya bristled a bit. "I'm not-"

"Oh you're not? Did you know Cersei when she was a girl?" Genna's eyebrow arched. "She was a tenacious little thing who hated being forced into womanhood. She and Jaime were twins, but he was given a sword and she was given a dress. She despised being treated so differently. She argued against it. Sometimes, she would pick up Jaime's sword and see what it felt like to hold it."

Arya stayed silent. She had never imagined Cersei as a child. It was hard to imagine enemies as children. As less than the awful adults they had become.

"She adjusted. Adapted," Genna said. "Every lady has to at some point. You're attempting it too. With quite a bit of success. That is a lovely dress, by the way."

"My handmaid picked it," Arya ran her hand across the fabric. She remembered Shae insisting it was the best choice, and she did not argue. One did not argue with Shae on fashion. "I don't have an eye for that sort of thing."

"It doesn't matter. It makes you look like a proper lady. Which I'm sure you hate," Genna said. "I know Cersei is difficult. She could have been so much like her mother, but her mother died too early. Instead she aspired to be her father, and the world would never let her be that." She shook her head. "Meanwhile, Tywin does not realize that Tyrion is more his child than either of the twins. Such similar minds they have. Tywin is willfully blind to it. Men can be such great, thundering fools."

Arya did not reply. She did not know what to say.

"I don't tell you all of this without purpose," Genna said. "I say it, because it seems Tywin plans to keep you around for a while longer. It would benefit you to understand this family of mine."

"Yes, I think it would," Arya said.

Genna sighed and stood from her seat. "I ought to leave you be. I'm sure you've been looking for some sort of escape."

"No, my lady. I've enjoyed speaking with you. It has been...enlightening," Arya said.

"Good." Genna looked down at her. "One last thing, Lady Arya. My brother...how often have you seen him smile?"

Arya blinked in surprised. "Smile?"

"Yes. I'm just curious."

Arya rubbed her palms together. "Lord Tywin doesn't smile often."

"Often?" Genna asked. "That implies that he does at all."

"I've...seen him smile twice now," Arya admitted. "Like I said. Not often."

Genna shook her head. "Ah, Lady Arya. For Tywin, that's frightfully often indeed."

* * *

Jaime was used to standing as a bodyguard during grand occasions such as this one. He had been doing so since he was sixteen years old. As a King's Guard, it was his job to do as the king needed, and at a wedding it was his job to watch for someone slipping poison into the wine.

He ran his left hand across the hilt of his sword. It still felt strange to grasp his weapon with the wrong hand, but his grip was stronger now and surer. He could at least hold his own in a fight against an average swordsman. His practices with Arya Stark had allowed that. Slowly but surely, he was rebuilding his muscle memory.

In addition, he now had a golden hand to replace his old one. Cersei had gifted it to him before the wedding. It was a heavy thing and perhaps a bit ostentatious. But if someone came at him, he could smack them rather hard with it.

It was a bright day outside and the sunlight sparkled along the metallic surface. This hand truly did scream Lannister. The family that shits gold.

"So you did regrow your hand," a voice said from his right. He turned to see Arya standing beside him, a little smirk on her face.

"Yes I did," Jaime said. "The Lannisters are never for want of gold. Be careful though. If you touch it, it might turn you to gold as well."

"Hmm." Arya reached out and tapped the hand with her finger. "No. I suppose I'm immune. That's a shame. I'd like to become a statue right now to escape this party."

"You'd make a wonderful addition to the garden," Jaime said. She actually did look something like a lady that day. Her hair had grown past her shoulders and was nicely braided by her handmaiden. And the blue dress suited her. Starks did like blue. But it was stitched with a golden pattern at the sleeves, as if to remind the world that she belonged to the Lannister family. "You know, this could have been your wedding."

"Thank the gods it's not," Arya said. "It's not that I don't like the king. Actually, he's very kind and I enjoy his company. But I cannot even imagine standing in Lady Margaery's place." She nodded at the main table. "Look at her. Perfectly happy. Perfectly graceful. I could never be that charming."

 _You're charming enough to make my father like you,_ Jaime thought. "It takes practice, I hear. Just like swordplay." He looked down at her. "Speaking of which, I have not seen you practicing lately, Lady Stark."

"It's been a busy month," Arya said. "I'll return to it. I need to practice wielding a different kind of sword."

"Why a different kind of sword?" Jaime asked. "Growing tired of that Needle?"

"No. I still treasure Needle," Arya said. "But I have a new sword now."

"Really? How did you acquire a new sword and does my father know?"

"He does," she looked up at him. "He gave it to me."

Jaime blinked a few times. Seven hells his father _gave_ her a sword?

"But of course, I'm more used to stabbing with a thin blade," Arya continued on as if she had not said anything astonishing at all. "This is more of a typical knight's blade. Perhaps you could teach me something?"

"Perhaps." Jaime shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't get past the fact that my father gave you a sword."

"Why?" Arya asked. "I saved his life. He paid a debt."

"With a _sword_?"

"What's this about a sword?" Tyrion asked, joining into the conversation. He was in good spirits, and likely on his fourth cup of wine.

"Father gave her a sword," Jaime said.

"Why are you surprised?" Tyrion asked. "That was only a matter of time. She killed three assassins with a tiny knife. Next time he'll want her to have a better weapon."

"Yes. In case there are five assassins," Arya pointed out. She looked just a bit too smug.

"Or seven," Tyrion said. "Let's not underestimate your abilities, Lady Arya."

"You're right. Seven. I can take seven."

Jaime exhaled. Apparently Tyrion had fully accepted that Arya had found a ridiculous amount of favor with their father. He didn't even seem phased by it anymore.

"Anyhow, my lady, I saw you speaking with Aunt Genna earlier," Tyrion continued on. "Tell me, did she learn your whole life story or just most of it?"

"She asked me some questions," Arya admitted. "I like her though. She's not as afraid of your father as most."

"Yes, she has that rare distinction. I do believe she's his favorite sibling," Tyrion said. "Or is it Uncle Kevan? Well it's one of those two. His relationship with Uncle Tygitt and Gerion has always been a bit more...unstable."

"It's strange to picture him being a child and having siblings," Arya said.

"As opposed to springing fully formed from the stone of a mountain? Yes, I agree," Tyrion said. "But Aunt Genna insists that he was, indeed, born like any mortal man. I suppose we'll take her word for it."

"How would she know?" Jaime asked. "She's younger. She wasn't there."

Tyrion snickered and raised his cup and even Arya let out a laugh at that. It was actually a rather rare thing to see Arya laugh. She was always so on guard. So wary. Jaime didn't blame her for that in a place like King's Landing. But she was beginning to let herself grin and laugh without restrain.

Jaime wondered if she was adjusting to this place. Adapting. He wondered if she was beginning to settle into being a ward to House Lannister.

But then, as if sensing both Arya and Tyrion's happiness, Cersei swept in to put an end to it. She was dressed in Lannister red and gold today, with magnificent jewelry and hair fitting the mother of the king. It was the first time she had abandoned black mourning attire. This was a happy occasion, after all. But she had smiled very little at this wedding.

"It's nice that you can all be so happy," Cersei said flatly. "But you're distracting Jaime. He should be protecting the king from harm."

"The king is fine," Jaime said. "I'm keeping a close watch, I promise."

"Were you keeping a close watch on the day Joffrey died?" Cersei retorted.

Jaime bit back a reply. It wasn't wise to antagonize her right now. But Tyrion was so drunk to realize that.

"Please, Cersei, Tommen is getting married. I know you're losing your queenly status, but do _try_ to be happy," Tyrion said.

"My eldest son died a month ago. Why would I be happy?"

"Because your eldest son tried to kill your youngest?" Tyrion suggested.

Cersei glared at him, fire flaring in her green eyes. "Don't speak those words freely out here. Not when others can hear them."

"You're the only one who doesn't want to hear them," Tyrion said. "It conflicts, doesn't it? You hate anyone who hurts your children, but one child tried to kill the other. What do you do?"

"Tyrion." Jaime rested a hand on his shoulder. He was speaking truth, but this was not the place to speak it.

"You're such a vile little creature," Cersei hissed. "You always have been. Plotting. Scheming."

"Those are the same thing."

"And so... _so_ funny," Cersei said. "Well keep making your jokes. You won't get to make them forever."

"That sounds suspiciously like a threat," Tyrion said. Jaime squeezed his shoulder in warning and he sighed. "But this is a wedding. We should make peace." Tyrion extended his cup. "Here. You need it more than I."

"I don't trust anything from you," Cersei said.

"I assure you. I've just drunk from this cup. It's not poison, sweet sister."

Cersei's whole face froze in anger for a moment. Then she smacked the cup from Tyrion's hand, sending it spinning across the ground. The red stained the stones. Without another word, she stalked off.

Tyrion rubbed his fingers together. "I admit, that was bad wording."

"Oh, do you?" Jaime shot him a glare. "She's still _mourning,_ Tyrion. I know you two hate each other, but couldn't you be gentler?"

Tyrion shrugged once.

"You should be careful," Arya said quietly. Oddly enough, she had watched the whole scene in complete silence. Arya was not usually one to be silent in Cersei's company. "Cersei is still looking for someone to blame for Joffrey's death. What if she blames you?"

"I'll correctly say that I didn't do it," Tyrion said.

Jaime's jaw clenched. Tyrion should know better than anyone that the truth didn't stop Cersei. If she could still love Joffrey after what he did, it meant she was an expert at deluding herself.

If she got it into her head that Tyrion killed her son...no one would be able to stop her. Not even with truth.

* * *

 _ **A/N: One of my very favorite stories about Tywin is that he, at the age of ten, told off Walder Frey. He was born intense. I also just love Genna Lannister in general. She has some of my favorite lines in the book and she really understands who Tywin is (but doesn't make excuses for him like Kevan does sometimes). So I had to have her and Arya talk, obviously.**_

 _ **Also, I enjoyed writing the convo between Jaime, Tyrion and Arya who have all gotten close over the past few years. Hope you guys enjoyed the mostly peaceful chapter as well (even though there were some hints at the future tension). Until next time, when I make things stressful again, review, subscribe etc!**_


	25. Chapter 25: The Scapegoat

_**A/N: Alright, fun chapter today. I get to write from Cersei's perspective, which is always fun. Also MORE DRAMA! Hope everyone enjoyed the break in that :) Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 25: The Scapegoat**

Cersei's mind was threatening to unravel. She could feel it fraying at the edges. If someone merely found the right piece to pull, she would lose all semblance of her fragile control.

This was a day that mothers were supposed to smile. To see their son married to a girl from a good family. But the girl was a manipulative little witch with her claws already deep inside Tommen. Her son was too young and kind to truly understand the weight of that crown. And this wedding came too soon after a funeral.

It felt, sometimes, as if she was the only one who remembered Joffrey's death. The realm was eager to forget it. But she remembered how he felt, writhing in her arms, the life leaving him in painful gasps. She would remember that day for the rest of her life, as clear as the day of his birth.

She had spent all day in the sept mourning, after the silent sisters prepared Joffrey's body. She cried until her tears had run dry and then she just stared into space. Quiet. Bitterly numb. No one else cared for Joffrey enough to mourn him. Not like her.

And then, in the midst of her grief, her father had to tell her the awful truth. That Joffrey had tried to kill him. Worse still, he had tried to kill Tommen. Cersei had always known Joffrey was a monster who she was cursed to love absolutely. But she never expected his viciousness to extend to his sweet brother.

It was too much to mourn. Too much to take in. Too much to just sweep under the rug.

Yet at the wedding, everyone else was happy to forget about their last king.

It was suffocating for Cersei. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to strangle every man, woman and child who laughed. She wanted to rip through the whole of the proceedings until only she and Tommen were left.

She had to escape the party or she might lose her control. So she found the hedge maze, Tommen's favorite place, the spot where he had almost died.

 _Gold will be their crowns and gold their shrouds._

How the words of that witch cursed her. All of her life she had feared for her children, knowing they would die. She tried to tell herself that the prophesy was nonsense. But what if. _What if_.

 _It's not poison, sweet sister._

What if Tyrion was just as wretched as the prophesy said? She could believe it. He was such a spiteful, ill made creature who ripped his way out of her mother at birth. He would kill them all if he could. It was his fate.

"Cersei."

Cersei's shoulders hitched as she heard Jaime behind her. "You should be protecting the king."

"He has two kingsguard standing at his side. They will defend him. And if they can't, a one handed knight wouldn't make a difference," Jaime rested his hand on her shoulder. "I need to protect you too."

"Protect me," Cersei laughed. "Can you protect me from fate?"

"Fate?" Jaime's brow furrowed.

"Never mind. You wouldn't understand," Cersei tried to pull away from him. His grip stayed firm.

"Help me to then," Jaime said. "I know you're hurting. You're trying to hide it, like you always do. But I can see through the cracks." When Cersei didn't respond he turned her around. "Cersei. Please."

His left hand was warm as he rested it on her cheek. It reminded Cersei how much she had missed him. Fierce, beautiful Jaime, soft only with her. She always wanted Joffrey to grow up to be just like Jaime. A strong warrior. A noble knight.

But Joffrey was in the ground, and in life he had never been noble.

"He was our boy," she mumbled as her tears started again. "Our first son. And he's gone."

Jaime pulled her to his chest, holding her tight. "I know."

"He died in my arms. He was in so much pain, Jaime. He looked to me to help him but I...I couldn't."

"No one could have. Not even you," Jaime said. "But we'll find who did it, Cersei. We'll be sure that Tommen does not meet with the same fate."

"Will we? Can we?"

"Yes." Jaime pulled back to look at her, brushing her hair from her face. "I promise we will."

Jaime made an awful lot of promises, and he didn't keep all of them. Sometimes his vows contradicted each other and he had to choose. But he meant them all in the moment. She leaned up, risking a kiss there in the midst of the maze. He kissed her back like a man dying of thirst.

Jaime was so easily plied by physical affection. He was weak to it like many men. He would do anything for her if she simply gave him a kiss or something more.

And she needed her brother. From a young age they had given him a sword and her a dress. She needed him for his sword. As long as she could use that, she would keep him happy.

* * *

When Jaime went after Cersei, Arya did not know what compelled her to follow. Partially, it was worry for Tyrion. What if Cersei blamed him for Joffrey's death? Arya certainly did not want Tyrion to take the fall for her.

 _He won't,_ she reminded herself. _Lord Tywin knows the truth. He can control Cersei._

But still she feared for Tyrion. He was one of her favorite people in this place, and one of the few who she could trust.

She followed Jaime at a distance until he disappeared into the maze. Then she crept up along the hedges to listen.

She did not intend to hear what she did. Whispered words meant only between brother and sister. But the nature of those words...

 _He was our boy. Our first son. Now he's gone._

Our boy. _Our._ Arya had always been aware of the rumors. People talked and enemies of the crown liked to suggest that Joffrey was born of incest. This confirmed that he was.

 _Our first son._

First meant that Tommen must be theirs as well. Arya assumed Myrcella also had that distinction. They did all look alike. They had the same blonde hair.

It made Arya's head spin. Did Tyrion know? Did Lord Tywin? There was no way on earth that he could...

Arya felt a bit dizzy as she took a step back. Then a second step. When she was far enough away, she turned and hurried away as fast as her feet would carry her. She ducked back into the party, circling around the edges-and in her haste almost ran over Tyrion.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I'm sorry."

"No harm done," Tyrion said. "You didn't spill any of my wine."

"You're drinking _more_?" Arya asked.

"Yes. I'm very good at drinking." Tyrion smiled. "And what about you? You look pale, my lady."

"I just...it's nothing..."

Tyrion pointed a finger at her. " _That_ is a lie. I can tell, even when I'm drunk. Something as startled you." His brow furrowed. "Didn't you go wandering after my brother?"

"No. I mean I did but...it has nothing to do with..." Arya shook her head. "Sorry, I should go."

She tried to move past by Tyrion caught her wrist. "Stop. My lady." His voice was suddenly more serious. "Did you find him with Cersei?"

There was a note of understanding in his voice. Arya swallowed hard.

"I see," Tyrion said. "Come with me. Let's go somewhere...quieter."

"How long have you known," Arya asked Tyrion when they found a quieter place in the garden.

"Quite a long time," Tyrion said. "They've been at it for as long as I can remember. It was a rather well-kept secret until someone suggested the truth to Stannis Baratheon. Then he spread it to everyone who could read."

"That would mean that...the true king..."

"I would not even speak those words if I were you," Tyrion said. "But yes. The true king is dead. Every Baratheon heir as well. Including the bastards." He sighed. "And now that you know, what are you thinking of doing?"

Arya didn't reply.

"I suggest doing nothing," Tyrion said. "You see...Lady Arya...I think that your father found out the truth too. That's why he tried to defy Joffrey when he rose to the throne. And that's why Cersei and Joffrey forced him to confess at the sept that Joffrey was the one true king."

"He did confess," Arya murmured. She remembered that day clearer than any other memory. He had confessed in the sight of gods and men. Her father never lied but on that day. "They forced him to lie."

"He likely did it for your sister's sake," Tyrion said. "And yours."

"He died for it. For that truth," Arya said.

"Yes," Tyrion said. "And for that reason, you should not do anything about it. For your own safety, Lady Arya. Cersei would kill you if you jeopardized Tommen's rule."

Yes, she probably would. Cersei was a woman willing to do anything for her children. "Does...does your father know?"

"No," Tyrion said. "Even if he suspects in the back of his mind...he'll never let himself believe it. I don't suggest telling him."

"Why would you care if I did?" Arya asked. "Cersei hates you. Why protect her?"

"Oh, I'm not protecting her. Just Jaime," Tyrion said. "We're all terrible disappointments to my father, you know. Cersei is drunk and unstable. Jaime rejects ambition and has lost a hand. And I'm me. Why add to the list?"

"Even if they weren't twins..." Arya said. "Cersei seems so awful to him. Your brother. Every time I've seen them talk, she's insulting him."

"It's not what you would call a healthy relationship," Tyrion said. "Jaime's feelings are true and often blind. I'm not sure Cersei's feelings are. She loves her children. No one else. But she needs Jaime sometimes, so she found a way to use him properly."

"Does he understand that?" Arya asked.

"He's starting to. I think his time as a prisoner in the north helped sober him. She's only growing more wild and vicious with time." Tyrion finished the rest of his cup. "I'm terribly sorry about this. You're a ward of the Lannister house but I'm sure you didn't expect to be pulled into the family scandal."

"No," Arya said. "There's truly never a dull day in this place."

Tyrion laughed once. "You'll grow used to it."

* * *

Cersei spent the night with Jaime in her quarters. But after their passions ended, her dreams were cursed with dark visions.

All over again, she dreamed of Joffrey dying in her arms. Of him writhing and bleeding. He cried out in a voice like a baby's cry and she tried desperately to soothe him.

 _Hush my boy. Hush. It's going to be alright._

In the crypt she saw his golden shroud and recalled again the woman's words.

 _Gold will be their crowns and gold their shrouds._

There were two bodies on either side of him, shrouded as well. Cersei did not need to look to see that they were Myrcella and Tommen. Dead as Joffrey and she could not save them.

Behind her, she heard cackling. Tyrion stood on the stairs, his eyes practically glowing in the darkness, like some foul demon.

" _You did this,"_ she screeched at him. _"You killed them all. You're a monster."_

" _Yes,"_ he hissed _._ Then he rushed forward quicker than she thought possible, grasping her throat in his hands. _"And you should have killed me sooner."_

Cersei gasped for breath as he began to squeeze. He squeezed as hard as he could, wringing the life from her. She tried to beat at his wrists but it was no good. His hands were hard and cold. Golden.

 _Cersei._

Golden hands.

 _Cersei!_

Cersei woke with a start and found Jaime kneeling at her bedside, his face concerned.

"You were having a nightmare," he said.

 _I'm living a nightmare,_ Cersei thought. She jumped from her bed and began to dress at once. _And it will keep being a nightmare unless I stop it._

"What are you doing?" Jaime asked. "It's the middle of the night."

"I have matters to attend to," Cersei said. "And _you_ should return to your room."

She had to deal with Tyrion. Now, before it was too late. She knew he killed Joff. Knew it in her heart. If she could not find the evidence, she would make it.

She would destroy that treacherous creature before he took everything else she loved.

* * *

Tywin always knew when Cersei was lying. But when she came to his office three days after the wedding with a mass of evidence against Tyrion, he had to admit she was getting better at it. She showed him records of the poison bought. She gave him witness testimony. Every damaging thing under the sun. The kind of case that could convict Tyrion in an afternoon.

If he did not know the truth, he might have believed her.

But it was too convenient. Only an idiot would have left such a trail and Tyrion, for all his other faults, was not an idiot.

"You've certainly acquired this evidence very quickly," Tywin said. "How did you manage it?"

"I've worked day and night," Cersei said. "I won't have the same thing happen to Tommen."

"You think Tyrion has designs on Tommen's life?"

"He has designs on _all_ of our lives."

 _That I doubt,_ Tywin thought. "It all seems a bit too easy. Catching an assassin usually isn't."

"Then I suppose we are fortunate," Cersei said. "I don't care how convenient it seems. Tomorrow, I'm going to have him arrested. I thought you should know so that you can prepare. But we must have justice for Joffrey."

"Cersei..."

"If you have a different culprit then I would be _glad_ to hear it," Cersei muttered.

Tywin did not reply. He did have a culprit. A person he knew, with absolute certainty, was behind Joffrey's death. But he would not give her name to Cersei.

Cersei looked triumphant at this. "You've always hated him, father. Just think of this as your chance. A chance to let him die without guilt. You've wanted that for a long time."

Tywin's expression hardened. "Don't presume to tell me what I've wanted. And don't presume that guilt has ever kept me from doing what is necessary. He is the lowest of the Lannisters but he's still a Lannister. That is why he's still alive."

"He killed your grandson," Cersei said. "You preach so often about legacy. Tyrion set that legacy on fire. This is what he deserves."

 _Joffrey wasn't my legacy,_ Tywin thought. _That mad boy was a plague on my legacy._

"You have a right to ask for a trial," Tywin said. "You have a right to build a case and call witnesses. But if you came here asking for my blessing to cause chaos in our family, you don't have it."

Cersei's face faltered for a moment. She liked to pretend that she was untouchable, but the child in her had always sought Tywin's approval. For a moment, she seemed to stumble for a retort before she lifted her chin. "I don't need your blessing. I need justice."

With that, she took her evidence and stalked from the room.

Tywin sat back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. In truth, a trial for regicide was an ideal way to rid himself of Tyrion. If he was convicted and executed... people would see that as justice.

But Tywin had already made his decision about Tyrion's life a long time ago. When he held his twisted form, staring out over the rocky beaches of Casterly Rock, and thought of placing him at the mercy of the ocean. He thought of letting the tide wash the mistake that killed his wife away.

But he didn't. He brought him up all the same, though he hated him. He let him live. And though Tyrion disgraced the Lannister name with his whoring and drinking and jokes, he was not without his worth. He had controlled Joffrey better than his mother as had. And he had helped bring Lord Baelish's treachery into the light.

He was still a Lannister. And Tywin's son. And if he did not kill him on that wretched night so many years ago, he did not intend to let Cersei kill him now.

But he could use this situation to his advantage...

* * *

It was never good news when Tyrion's father called him to the Tower of the Hand, but this late at night made Tyrion especially nervous. Perhaps his father had finally decided to kill him.

 _No,_ Tyrion thought. _I've done nothing recently to provoke him. There must be something else._

But what required discussion so late at night?

For once Tywin was not sitting at his desk when Tyrion arrived, nor was he writing letters. He was standing by the window, staring out into the black of the night. His face was more serious than usual.

"You called me here?" Tyrion asked cautiously.

"Yes," Tywin said. "Your sister...is building a very strong case against you. She plans to blame you for Joffrey's murder."

His father was always so blunt. He never danced around the subject in the least. "Well," Tyrion swallowed hard. "I can't say I'm surprised. Do you think it will move her if I say 'I didn't do it'?"

Tywin glanced at him. "Her evidence is convincing. It would leave you soundly guilty if she put you on trial."

"How much did she pay for this imaginary evidence, I wonder?" Tyrion asked. "It must cost quite a lot to create something from nothing."

"Tyrion. This isn't a time to be glib," Tywin looked at him. "She's going to arrest you in the morning. And I won't stand in her way."

Tyrion's jaw clenched. "So...why am I here? You're warning me? Depriving me of a peaceful sleep?"

"No. I'm giving you a chance to leave."

The words stunned Tyrion. His father never gave him anything, much less chances. What was this exactly? What was his game?

"There's a ship in the harbor," Tywin continued. "If you sail to Essos, no one will follow you. I guarantee it. So long as you do not return, you will be safe." He tossed a small pouch onto the desk. It clinked when it landed. "You'll be able to live comfortably enough. But not with the Lannister name."

"Ah. I see. You're taking this opportunity to get rid of me," Tyrion said. "Very resourceful of your father. But really, why not just let Cersei have me. If she _kills_ me then you won't have to deal with me anymore. Why even _bother_ with a ship?"

His father did not look at him. His whole body was rigid as he stared out the window. "You played a part in bring Lord Baelish to justice. I acknowledge that. So I'm giving you this chance."

"That's kind of you father. But if you think I did it, wouldn't you be in your rights to throw me to the lions?" Tyrion asked. "If I killed the king, that's regicide. All debts would be cleared. If you think I did it..." He paused. "Oh. I see. You know I'm innocent."

"I suspect you are," Tywin said.

"You _know_." Tyrion shook his head. "But you won't vouch for me. You're incapable of that. I'm surprised you could give any credit to me regarding Lord Baelish. Why not give all the credit to..."

He trailed off as it dawned on him. Yes, his father knew that Tyrion hadn't killed Joffrey. But he couldn't reliably stand for him unless he knew the true culprit. But the true culprit...

"Arya," Tyrion said. "She's the one behind it, isn't she?"

Tywin looked down at him disdainfully. It was all the answer Tyrion needed.

"Of course. Cersei has built a convincing case. If you called her a liar you would have to offer up the true culprit. And you would never do that to the Stark girl. No. You like her too much for that. If you let Cersei think I did it...she is safe." Tyrion laughed. "This is hilarious."

"I don't think you quite understand the situation," Tywin said.

"Oh no, I understand. The realms need a scapegoat and I'm the perfect shape for one," Tyrion spit out.

"Are you going to accept or not?"

Tyrion gritted his teeth together, feeling a wave of anger and grief rise up in him all at once. Part of him wanted to spit in his father's face. _Put me on trial,_ he wanted to say. _I'm not afraid._

But he knew Cersei would build a good case against him. No one would protect him from the executioner's block, least of all his father. This was Tywin Lannister's last act of mercy.

Tyrion swiped the bag of gold off of the table. His father looked away from him again, as if he had already dismissed him in his mind.

"I suppose this is goodbye," Tyrion said, backing up toward the door. The gold clinked in his bag. It was only a small piece of what his father was paying him to leave. He would get what he wanted now. He would never have to look at Tyrion again. A wonder he didn't let Cersei kill him. "I can't say I'll miss you very much."

Tywin didn't reply. He seemed to be glaring at the window instead. Perhaps the glass had displeased him as well.

Tyrion sighed and pocketed the money. "You've placed so much on the Stark girl now." He looked up at him with a mirthless smile. "I do hope she doesn't disappoint you like the rest of us."

His father looked at him then. And Tyrion could see, in a moment of satisfaction, that he had caught the immovable Lord of Casterly Rock off guard. He gave a little bow and left before he could respond.

He would not give Tywin Lannister the last word. Not this time.

* * *

 _ **A/N: This is the choice I feel like I have to justify the most. In the show, I don't really think Tywin wanted Tyrion dead just...gone and not interfering with his life. If Tywin wanted Tyrion dead, he would have been dead a long time ago. He hoped to send Tyrion to the wall so that he never had to deal with him again. And the only reason Tyrion got so close to death was because of the trial by combat thing which was NOT in Tywin's plan.**_

 _ **So yes. Tywin give Tyrion a chance to leave here, mostly so he can use it to manipulate the situation to his advantage. He doesn't want the chaos in his family right after he managed to get everything managed again.**_

 _ **Twas a fun conversation to write though. Cause Tyrion sees right through him lol. Hope you enjoyed and REVIEW!**_


	26. Chapter 26: Two Lions, One Stone

_**A/N: And we're back with another chapter! I'm glad my last plot decision went over pretty well with everyone.**_

 _ **IMPORTANT NOTE: I went back a week ago and edited a couple chapters to include an object which shows up in this chapter. I only recently decided I wanted to make this object thematically significant so there you go (That's the problem with uploading chapters before you're done with a full fic lol). It's a piece of Tyrion's Cyvasse game-an extra king with a broken crown. It has now been mentioned in chapter 9 and chapter 23 when she plays Cyvasse with Tyrion. So, when you see it referenced in this chapter like it's been referenced before...that's why.**_

 _ **Other than that, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 26: Two Lions, One Stone**

It was just past midnight when Arya heard a knock on her door. Knowing better than to trust any visitor at such an hour, she drew her sword and stood ready in the center of the room. "Who is it?"

"Tyrion."

"Oh." Arya lowered the blade. "Come in."

Tyrion entered slowly, a box in his hands. He glanced up at her sword. "Planning to kill me, Lady Stark?"

"You could have been an assassin," Arya pointed out.

"An assassin who knocks?" Tyrion shook his head. "Is that the sword my father gave you?"

"Oh? Yes." Arya smiled and sheathed the blade again. "It's beautiful isn't it?"

"Yes," Tyrion murmured. "Quite beautiful. Valyrian steel isn't it?"

"It is." Arya's brow furrowed. Tyrion did not seem quite himself. In fact he looked exhausted. "Are you well, Lord Tyrion?"

"No. Not very," Tyrion said. "I won't be in the capital awhile. Urgent business across the narrow sea. But I thought I might say goodbye before I go."

"Oh. When will you be back?" Arya asked.

"I'm not sure," Tyrion said.

"Well, it will be much more boring without you around," Arya said. "So try to come back as soon as you can. Who else will I play Cyvasse with?"

"Ah yes. Cyvasse," Tyrion set down the box on the table. "Actually I...thought I'd leave my board with you. So that you can keep practicing. Jaime has little patience for the game, but perhaps you can convince him to play. You're good at convincing him to do things." Tyrion forced a smile. It seemed much sadder than usual. "Oh and...speaking of Jaime, will you give him this? It's a letter meant for his eyes only."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Then why not give it to him yourself?"

"He might be with Cersei," Tyrion said. "I'd rather avoid that encounter. You understand."

Arya certainly did. She nodded once. "I'll give it to him."

"Thank you," Tyrion said. He started to go but he stopped in the doorway. "Arya...you're a very kind person. Do you know that?"

Arya blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You're kind," Tyrion repeated. "Not sweet. Not gentle. In fact I would call you fiercer than most people I've met. But you are kind."

Arya swallowed thickly. "Where is this coming from...Lord Tyrion?"

"I just wanted to tell you before I go. Because your form of aggressive compassion has had a rather good influence on some of my family. Myself included," Tyrion said. "Don't let my father convince you that it's weakness. It's not."

Arya had no idea what to say. She had never been called kind before in her life. That was a word for gentle ladies. She had been called stubborn, selfish, wild and every word in between. But never kind.

"I'm just talking." Tyrion smiled at her again. "Good luck, Arya. And farewell."

He closed the door behind him before Arya could return the sentiment. The words caught in her throat.

Slowly, she turned and wandered over to the table. She clicked open the box that Tyrion had opened many times between them. All of the pieces were there, including that extra, broken king which never had a place. She picked up the king and ran her finger along its cracked crown.

 _Tyrion will be back,_ she told herself. _He's only going away for a short time. He'll return._

But she didn't believe her own thoughts. This felt like an awfully permanent goodbye. And Arya did not like it one bit.

* * *

Jaime had hoped that things might finally go back to normal following the wedding. Cersei had become suddenly affectionate toward him again, and with Tommen as king he did not have to worry about Joffrey's vicious whims causing damage.

But then Tyrion vanished from the city, and Jaime discovered that Cersei planned to have him arrested for Joffrey's death that very morning on the basis of evidence that she quite suddenly acquired.

Jaime did not even know how to process all of this information as his father informed them that Tyrion had fled the city. Cersei was in a rage, his father was stoic as ever, and Jaime felt as if he was floating out of his own body. Why? Why wasn't anything ever peaceful for two seconds with this family? And why was Tyrion always getting the blame for everything. Tyrion did not kill Joffrey. He _couldn't_ have. Tyrion wasn't a murderer, no matter how Cersei saw him.

"We must send people out at once," Cersei said. "This is proof of his guilt. He ran from his fate. He ran from justice. Well he won't get far. I'll find him."

"No, he won't get far," Tywin said. "Leave him to me. There are only so many places he can hide."

Jaime shook his head. "This is...madness. Tyrion didn't kill Joffrey."

"Please, Jaime. Don't be so blind," Cersei said. "You've _never_ seen what he truly is. He's a monstrous murderous creature. You show him compassion but he would kill you too if you got the chance."

"The only one who is blind here is _you_ ," Jaime spit out. "You've only ever seen what you wanted to with Tyrion. Always blamed him for what he didn't do. Sometimes you blamed him for your _own_ crimes and then justified it to yourself later. Well, I'm not going to be a part of it. Tyrion is not, and never has been, the monster of your nightmares."

Fury rose in Cersei, making her look rather like a dragon about to spit fire. "He killed Joffrey."

"He _didn't_ -"

"Quiet." Tywin ordered. The volume of his voice rendered everyone silent. "We don't know if Tyrion killed Joffrey. So we will find him and bring him back and find the truth of it." He glanced at Cersei. "You will leave the matter to me. That's final."

Cersei's jaw clenched and she dipped into a quick curtsy. "As you say father." Then, with one last glare at Jaime, she swept from the room.

"This is ridiculous," Jaime muttered when the door had closed. "You know Tyrion wouldn't poison Joffrey. That's not like him."

"No. But running does make him look guilty," Tywin said. "I don't think he did it. But I will send people out for him none the less."

"No. You won't," Jaime said. "I won't allow it."

"And how do you plan to stop me, exactly," Tywin asked. "Will you steal my pen and all of my paper?"

" _Please_ ," Jaime said. "He's my brother. I won't see him stand trial for this."

Tywin observed him for a long time, and Jaime got a startling sense that he had just stumbled into a trap. "If I don't send people after him...that leaves me without an heir, doesn't it? Except for you of course, but you've refused to leave the King's Guard. So unless we can come to some arrangement..."

Jaime laughed. "Oh, this works out perfectly for you, doesn't it? Two lions with one stone. You can use Tyrion to blackmail me, and get rid of him all at once. You never fail to take advantage of a family tragedy."

Tywin was unmoved. "It's your duty to the family Jaime. You're my eldest son. And now that you have lost a hand, serving in the King's Guard is not really appropriate. There is a precedent to remove a King's Guard from his post."

"So you'll have me break another vow."

"Didn't you say your honor was beyond repair?"

Jaime glared at him. "And if I did leave the King's Guard? What next? I suppose you already have a wedding planned for me?"

Jaime's tone still did not ruffle Tywin in the least. He was watching him as if he was a petulant child. That look was enough to make Jaime's blood boil. "When you have left the King's Guard and taken your place as my heir you will marry Arya Stark."

The command hit him like a punch to the gut. Seven hells, how long had his father been plotting this? "She's a _child_ , father."

"Yes. And you'll marry her when she comes of age," Tywin said. "The match will join the Stark and Lannister houses more permanently, ensuring that we keep our alliance for many years to come."

Jaime jerked his fingers through his hair. "Does she know about this yet, or...were you leaving it to me to tell her?"

"You may tell her. If you agree to it," Tywin said, picking up his quill and dipping it in ink. "If you don't, then I will have no choice but to send people after Tyrion."

Jaime laughed once. "This truly did work out perfectly for you, didn't it? Joffrey dies and Cersei blames Tyrion. You have an opportunity to get rid of him, make me your heir _and_ gain Arya Stark as a daughter. Everything works out exactly as you want it."

Tywin's expression was cold. "Do you agree or not?"

"Yes. I agree." Jaime muttered. "Put down your damn pen. I _agree_."

His father had won. He had played them all into the perfect corner, just as he always did. And not one of them could do anything about it.

Jaime did not believe in the gods. But even they were more easily moved than Tywin Lannister.

* * *

There were two people Jaime had to tell about the new engagement. And Arya Stark was far and away the easier of the two. He did not even want to think about telling Cersei. She was already erratic but this might send her over the edge completely. He didn't know how to talk to her anymore.

Arya might try to stab him, but he could handle that. Probably.

He found her in her room, surprisingly enough. She was standing in the center, turning a sword in her hand. It was a gorgeous blade. In fact, it appeared to be Valyrian steel.

 _He gave her the other half of her father's sword,_ Jaime realized. _The half meant for Joffrey. Gods, he really has put his hopes on her._

"Ser Jaime." Arya lowered her sword. "What brings you here?"

"A number of things," Jaime said. "That's a fine sword."

"It's half of my father's," Arya said. "Lord Tywin must have reworked the steel. I'm not sure where he's keeping the other half."

"I'm... keeping the other half. Actually," Jaime said after a pause. He drew his blade and showed it to her. "These swords are twins."

"Oh." Arya looked at his sword as if seeing it for the first time. They didn't practice with real swords, so perhaps she hadn't noticed it. "I don't suppose my father would be happy about that."

"No, not at all," Jaime agreed. "I don't suppose you're happy about it either."

"I wanted to be angrier," Arya admitted. "When I heard Lord Tywin had reforged my father's sword...I should have been absolutely furious. But the fact that I got a piece of it." She sighed. "I always wanted my father's blade. I never thought I'd have it, since I'm a daughter." Something seemed to occur to her then. "Oh! I have something for you."

Jaime watched as she paced over to the desk. She grabbed a letter off the top and handed to him. It was sealed.

"What's this?" Jaime asked.

"Lord Tyrion gave it to me," Arya said. "He stopped by my room late last night before he left. He said he had...urgent business in Essos, I think?"

Jaime's eyes widened and tore through the seal with his thumb, hurrying to unfold it. As fast as he could, he read the letters.

 _Jaime,_

 _I'm sorry to leave you with these people, and I'm sorry to leave without saying goodbye directly. I could not risk being seen by Cersei. Our sweet sister has her mind set on my guilt. Whatever she says and whatever she shows you, I did not kill Joffrey._

 _Father knows it too. He'll pretend he doesn't, because he's a liar. But he is the one who provided the ship to escape. Very merciful of him, I know. Now he soundly gets me out of the picture._

 _I'm afraid the legacy sits on your shoulders now. I'm sorry for that. I know you never wanted it. But I hope, one day, when father is senile or dead, we will see each other again._

 _Farewell,_

 _Tyrion_

Jaime gritted his teeth together, crumpling the note in his hand. "That bastard."

Arya's brow furrowed. "Tyrion?"

"No. My father," Jaime exhaled. "Gods, you're honest aren't you? You didn't even read the letter. You have no idea." He tossed the crumpled piece on the ground between them. "Go on. Read."

Cautiously, Arya picked up the paper and smoothed it out. She read it once. Twice. Her face went rather pale.

"Why..." She shook her head. "Why did he send him away? Your father knows Tyrion didn't kill Joffrey. So why?"

"Because it suits him," Jaime said. "We're all a part of an intricate game, you see. A game to advance the Lannister name. He doesn't want Tyrion as his heir even though Tyrion would do well at it. No, he wants me. The golden son. So he's using Tyrion to blackmail me as well."

"Blackmail you? How?" Arya asked.

"Father wants me to leave the king's guard. So that I can marry and have Lannister children, of course. So that I can secure our house's legacy," Jaime said. "That's what he always wanted, but now that Cersei wants Tyrion's head on a spike, he can finally back me into a corner. Make me choose between the King's Guard and my brother."

Arya looked absolutely stricken by this. Of course she did. She quite liked Tyrion. But he hadn't even told her the worst of it yet. The poor girl.

"I'm sorry that you're part of the wretched game too," Jaime said. "Truly. No one enjoys being a part of my father's schemes. But now you're at the center of one."

Arya's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You guessed, I'm sure, that he would marry you off someday," Jaime said. "You're a smart girl. When your engagement to Tommen ended, you knew it wouldn't be forever. One day he would find another place to put you."

"Of course I knew," Arya said. "What does that have to do with...?" She trailed off as it dawned on her. He saw the confusion wash from her place, replaced with shock. "He...plans to marry me to you?"

Jaime nodded once.

For a moment, she swayed in the middle of the room. Jaime half expected her to go for her sword, but instead she sank onto the bed.

"Why?" she asked. "I'm the second daughter of the Stark house. I'm his hostage. He would marry me to you?"

"He was going to marry you to his grandson," Jaime said. "This isn't so much of a stretch."

"Tommen is a Baratheon, and he was a second son. You're a Lannister. He wants to build his legacy through you," Arya said.

"And you, Lady Arya. I'm afraid that's the price of finding my father's favor."

Arya shook her head. "I'm not sure how much he favors me. This will put me at the very _top_ of Cersei's kill list, especially with Tyrion gone."

"Undoubtedly. I haven't told her yet but when I do-" Jaime stopped and looked back at Arya. Wait, how did she _know_ that this engagement would enrage Cersei? She couldn't know about...there was no way that she...

Arya looked up at him, as if she had been caught in the act of some crime. Seven hells, she _did_ know.

"When did you find out?" he asked.

"The wedding," Arya said.

"Tyrion could not have been drunk enough to tell you."

"He didn't. I mean he explained it to me but only after I...overheard you." Arya rubbed her fingers together. "I followed because I worried Cersei was going to accuse Tyrion of Joffrey's murder. Which...obviously she did. But...I didn't intend to hear the other things."

"You Starks are a goddamned nosy lot, aren't you?" Jaime muttered. "Have you told anyone?"

"No. Telling someone got my father killed," Arya said. "Honestly, that's the last thing on my mind right now. I'm more concerned with this sudden engagement and with Tyrion's safety." She shook her head. "I can't _believe_ your father would-"

"I do," Jaime said. "My father would do anything and everything if it satisfied his goals. This is really a small step for him."

Arya didn't reply. She just stared straight ahead, blankly, as if she hadn't fully processed all of this news.

Jaime softened his voice. "I...apologize, Lady Arya. For all of this."

"Don't apologize," she murmured. "It isn't your fault. You're trying to protect your brother. I understand that." She looked up at him. "Thank you for telling me."

Her voice was flat. He could hear that she was angry. But not at him. Her anger was clearly directed at his father.

"I'll leave you alone," Jaime said. "I just thought you should know." He backed toward the door. "Arya..."

She looked up at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

Arya nodded once, and he closed the door, knowing with absolute certainty that she was going to do something stupid.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Some of you have been guessing at this engagement happening since like...a while. So, for those people, congrats! Obviously neither of them are happy about this arrangement, even though they're fine with each other as people. Neither wants to get married but both care about Tyrion, so what are you gonna do?**_

 ** _I enjoyed writing Arya and Tyrion's final convo a lot because I love their friendship. Don't worry, Tyrion will return later in the story. Review, subscribe etc. and I'll see you next time!_**


	27. Chapter 27: Until There Comes Another

_**A/N: Slightly shorter chapter this time around (but then again, I've been giving you guys a lot of long chapters in a row). And we get more time in Cersei's head. Plus a conversation between Tywin and Cersei I really enjoyed writing. In any case, ENJOY!**_

 **Chapter 27: Until There Comes Another**

Reality was rarely tethered for Cersei these days. Between the alcohol and the lack sleep and the intense, constant paranoia, she almost never felt like she was standing on solid ground. And Tyrion's disappearance only made it worse. So long as he was out there, he could still plot the ruin of their house. At least when he was here, she could keep an eye on him but now...he could be anywhere. Anywhere at all.

It made her sick to think about. Her only constant was Jaime. Tommen had been stolen away from her by that Tyrell girl, Myrcella had been stolen by Dorne and Joffrey had been stolen by death itself. Jaime she still had. Jaime she would always have.

Until...she didn't.

Cersei barely heard the words when Jaime first told them to her. That father was forcing him to leave the King's Guard. That he was engaged to that little wolf bitch. How that girl had been digging her teeth into this family. A Stark of Winterfell. A wolf amongst lions. And she thought she could take Jaime from her as well?

" _It's father's plotting,"_ Jaime had said. _"Really, Cersei. She wants nothing to do with me."_

But how could he know that? What if she had presented the idea to their father? She had so much of his favor now, didn't she? Perhaps she wanted a more favorable position in the Lannister family.

 _Until there comes another. Younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear._

Arya Stark could not be the girl the witch had spoken of. She was younger but certainly not a beauty. The prophesy surely meant Margaery Tyrell, who took her son away. Yet Arya was promised to Tommen before her. And Arya had won her father's favor. And now would wed her brother.

 _Take all that you hold dear._

She gave Jaime some sensible reply. At least she hoped it sounded sensible. _"Yes of course. It's not you or the girl's fault. Father is plotting again. I understand."_

Jaime did not buy the lie. He eyed her with obnoxious concern. When he reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder Cersei jerked away from him.

" _I said I understand. Leave me."_

He did with little argument. There was fear in his eyes. He had feared her for some time, for the woman she had become. But who could blame her? So many wars, a wretched husband who did not love her, and a dead monster of a son who she loved more than life itself. She had paid too high a price for being a woman in this world.

Once Jaime had gone, Cersei wandered from her room. She did not know where she was going. To yell at her father, perhaps. But what could she yell at him for? He did not know how she truly felt about Jaime.

 _He should though, or he is willfully blind,_ Cersei thought.

She drifted in the general direction of the hand's tower, her mind twisting and turning with wine and the witch's prophesy. But as she walked down the steps leading toward the west wing of the castle, she crossed paths with Arya Stark.

Cersei stopped in her tracks at the top of the stairs. And the Stark girl stopped at the bottom, glaring up at her. How much hate she had in her heart. Cersei wondered if it could begin to match her own.

"Lady Stark," she said softly.

"Lady Lannister," Arya replied curtly. She started up the steps, as if she meant to ignore her. But Cersei would not allow that.

"Wait a moment. I have a question," she said.

Arya paused mid-step, right beside Cersei. She did not look at her, only stared ahead like she wanted nothing more than to keep walking. "Yes?"

"Are you satisfied?" Cersei asked. "Now that you've ensnared my brother and my father. Are you happy? Have you had your revenge?"

Arya's jaw clenched. "I haven't ensnared anybody. And I do not want to marry your brother."

"That's a weak lie. I know your game," Cersei spit.

"I don't play that kind of game. Not everyone thinks like you, your grace," Arya looked at her then. Her gaze was cold as winter's first snow. "Sorry. I suppose it's 'my lady' now. You're not a queen anymore."

The words hit Cersei hard. The wolf bitch started up the stairs again, but Cersei drew her hand back to smack her. As her hand flew, Arya's eyes seemed to flare with grey fire. She caught her wrist in an iron grip.

"Do not touch me," she said flatly. Two steps above Cersei on the stairs, the Stark girl now loomed over her.

"How dare you," Cersei spit. "You forget who you are."

"I don't. I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. And you are Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock," Arya replied. "You are just a lady like me now. You are not a queen. You have no crown. And if you try to strike me again, I will strike you back harder."

Cersei stared at her with wide eyes. Now she knew who Arya reminded her of. She saw it blazing in her grey eyes. Lyanna Stark. The same woman who Rhaegar Targaryen had chosen. The same woman who Robert Baratheon, her husband, cried out for in their marriage bed. She looked just like her.

 _Until there comes another. Younger and more beautiful. To cast you down and take all that you hold dear._

Gods, why were Starks such a plague upon her?

Cersei drew away from Arya Stark, jerking her hand back. She turned and stumbled away down the hall. She would have to find some other way to deal with Arya Stark. Poison would be the ideal method. She had proven herself too resistant to a violent assassination. Though perhaps she could make her death look like an accident. Her father could hardly blame her for an accident. The north might blame them, but what did she care? Fuck the northmen. They could hold them off easily.

She rounded the corner and nearly ran right into someone's chest. She felt hands on her shoulders, steadying her.

"Cersei."

"Get out of my way," she muttered.

"Cersei." The voice said again, more firmly this time. She looked up to see her father looking down at her. What a stern face he had. It reminded her of when she was a child and he caught her in the midst of a lie.

"Yes, father?" Cersei managed. She could barely look him in the eye. She was so damn drunk.

Tywin studied her for a long time. His gaze went from cold to almost...tired. Exhausted even.

"Come with me," he said at last.

* * *

It was cold at the docks. Close to freezing in fact. But Cersei did not mind the bite of the wind. These days, she rarely felt anything at all because her mind was so soaked in wine. It was nice to feel pain. A physical pain to distract from the aching of her heart.

She leaned against the wall of the walkway overlooking the docks, gripping the stone edge with her hands. Her father was watching her. He had not said anything since they arrived and the silence was beginning to eat at her soul.

"I'm fine," Cersei said at last. "If Jaime told you anything...he is mistaken and overreacting."

"Jaime hasn't told me anything," Tywin said.

"Then why am I here?"

"Because I have my own eyes and ears." Tywin glanced at her. "How drunk are you? Don't try to lie."

Cersei glared down at her hands. "Very."

"That's not specific."

"You didn't _ask_ for specific," Cersei said petulantly. "And it's not as if I remember how much wine I've drunk. I can barely tell you the time of day."

Tywin did not reply.

"Go on. Lecture me. Tell me that this is not any way for a lady of House Lannister to behave. Remind me that my actions reflect on you." She laughed once. "You're fond of your lectures. I think it gives you great joy to tell someone that they're wrong. That you know better than they do."

"It gives me no joy at all to have this conversation with you," Tywin said. "This is not a lecture. My words won't do you any good now. This is a goodbye."

Cersei managed to turn her head enough to look at him. Her long blonde hair fell in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sending you back to Casterly Rock," her father said. "Until you have regained your faculties."

Cersei's chest constricted at the words. "I can't...leave. My place is here. I'm the queen."

"You aren't," Tywin said. "Nor are you queen regent any longer. You are the mother of the king. But you are only a hindrance to Tommen. I won't let you ruin him like you ruined Joffrey."

Cersei barred her teeth slightly, straightening. "No. You can't send me away. I'm the _only_ one who can protect Tommen. The only-"

"You're a danger to him," Tywin said. "You're drunk. You're paranoid. You've lost all control of yourself."

"And you think that gives you a right to ship me back to the Rock?" Cersei hissed. "I am not one of your damned subjects. I-"

"You're my daughter," Tywin snapped. "And you will do as I command before you ruin yourself too. I will not watch you fall to madness in this place."

"You were the one who sent me here, _father_." Cersei snarled. "Years ago. It was _you_ who gave me to Robert Baratheon, because you could only think to marry me off like some brood mare. You never even thought of treating me the same as Jaime, did you? Never thought that I might be your legacy."

Her father stared her down. There was crushing disappointment in his eyes. It was the very worst thing for Cersei to see. To know she had once again fallen below his expectations. "You were my legacy. That's why I made you queen of the seven kingdoms. While you were busy wishing you had been born a man, you could have ruled. Instead you let bitterness swallow you up. And make you this." He looked away. "There's nothing more I can do for you now."

A feral, desperate urge ripped through Cersei. She lunged at her father then, meaning to strike him. Or perhaps push him down the steps. But he intercepted her, grasping both of her wrists tight in his hands. She struggled and screamed but his grip did not give. Though he was older, he was still quite strong. Still she did not stop fighting. Not until footsteps reached her ears and other hands took hold of her shoulders. Her father's guards.

In a flash of panic, Cersei looked up at him, her gaze pleading. Her father looked right back at her. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes.

When Cersei was a child, just after her mother had died, she had screamed at the gods to bring her back. When he caught her in her furious prayer, she had seen that same regret then.

" _The gods will not give your mother back,"_ he had said.

" _If they are merciful they will,"_ she had protested. " _They'll resurrect her and take back that awful creature that killed her."_

" _The gods have no mercy. That's why they're gods."_

At last her father exhaled and looked to his guards. "Bear her safely to Casterly Rock. See that she rests once she's there."

Then he let her go and surrendered her to his men.

Cersei kicked and screamed all the way down the steps toward the docks. She was sure every eye in sight turned to look at her but she did not care. She hurled insults at her father.

She was his daughter but he sent her away none the less. Because she was in the way of his perfect plan.

He was right. The gods were gods because they were cruel.

It was a wonder Tywin Lannister had not yet become a god himself.

* * *

Tywin had not felt so exhausted in a long time. There was never any rest for him, of course, but lately, his ordeals had been far too personal. Dealing with Tyrion. Dealing with Cersei. It was all a reminder that the Lannister family was not untouchable.

He had a firm grip on Jaime, at least, though Jaime was more upset with him than ever following Cersei's departure.

" _She's your daughter! You think sending her away will make her any better? Or is it just because you can't stand the sight of her anymore?"_

Angry as it had made him, Jaime was right. Tywin did not think there was hope for Cersei to recover her old self. But to see her stumbling drunk about the keep, caught in her own delusions...it was painful.

She looked so much like her mother. For that reason alone, Cersei had always been painful to handle. A headstrong girl with the green eyes of his wife. He hated how she reminded him, every day, of his losses.

Still, she was the only one who took his teachings seriously. Jaime ignored him in favor of swinging about his sword, but Cersei hung on his every word. That was why he was so determined to make her queen. She could have shaped the course of the country.

But she didn't. Because Cersei thought far too highly of herself and disdained her enemies. Tywin imagined she was mimicking him. She thought that he looked down on every one of his opponents. In truth he did not overestimate or underestimate anyone if he could help it. He judged them as they were, and dealt with them accordingly.

Cersei thought she was smarter than everyone else and that made her weak and easy to manipulate. She would not admit when she had made a mistake until it was too late. And she was blind to the truth once she had created a suitable delusion to replace it.

 _I should have corrected that sooner,_ Tywin thought. _If I had known how far this madness would carry her...I might have._

He had watched people fall to madness before, but he never expected to watch his daughter take the plunge.

 _And now she is beyond my power,_ he thought. _Just like Aerys. But at least she is not king._

In his exhaustion, Tywin wished for only a few days of rest when nothing would happen. But then, the day after Cersei left, Arya Stark knocked on his door.

And he could see already in her eyes that she had some trouble to cause as well.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So Cersei is gone for a bit. Don't worry, she'll be coming back into the story in a BIG WAY down the line, so this is hardly the last we've seen of her, ah, fury. Writing the convo between her and Tywin was tough though cause it got more emotional than I expected**_

 _ **Now Tywin has shut down Tyrion, Jaime and Cersei. And here comes Arya ready to have SOME WORDS. Next chapter marks the end of this post-Joffrey's death arc. Until then, review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	28. Chapter 28: The Wolf Still Has Teeth

_**A/N: ...Well, this chapter falls into the catagory of top five most difficult to write. So enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 28: The Wolf Still Has Teeth**

This was a bad time to speak to Lord Tywin. Arya was intensely aware of that as she stood in the corner of his office, rolling a cyvasse piece in her palm. It was one of the kings. The one with the broken crown. She hadn't meant to bring it here. She had been playing the board all that morning and hadn't really thought of it when she walked from her room on a whim and made her way toward the tower of the hand.

But Tyrion had given her this board, and for some reason she felt she needed his spirit for strength.

She traced the almost sharp edges of the king's broken crown, digging them into her thumb. She watched Tywin, waiting to see if she should speak or leave. Cersei's departure had left him seemingly exhausted. For the briefest second, he was vulnerable. Then, he glanced at her and remembered himself. His back straightened. His expression hardened.

"I hope you're not here to argue with me about the match with Jaime," he said. "Because my decision on that is final."

"Will arguing do me any good?" Arya asked.

"It won't," Tywin said.

"Then no. I'm not here to argue about that."

She had other words to say though. A lot of other potentially dangerous words.

"It's a good position for you," Tywin said. "Better than most could hope for."

"Especially the second daughter of a traitor," Arya murmured. She passed the broken king from hand to hand. "Yes. I know. I know how objectively advantageous it is."

Tywin nodded, almost distractedly, pacing back to his desk. "My children...between all of them it seems like a race to see who can burn down the Lannister legacy faster. All three of them have tried. All three of them will fail. The legacy will succeed in spite of them."

"Hmm." Arya tapped her thumb against the king's crown. "You shouldn't be surprised though."

Tywin shuffled through some papers. "What do you mean?"

"By them rebelling. You shouldn't be surprised," Arya looked up at him. "Have you played Cyvasse much, my lord?"

"No. I don't have much time for games," Tywin said dismissively.

"I had an awful lot of time when I first came here," Arya said. "Tyrion taught me to play. The goal is to arrange your pieces in just the right way to win the game. Your opponent tries to do the same. It's a game of war on the battlefield." Arya shrugged. "You would be good at it, I'm sure. You run your life like an intense game of Cyvasse. Except for people aren't game pieces." She squeezed her king tight in her palm, letting its wooden face dig into her skin. "So you shouldn't be surprised when they resent you for treating them that way. Or when they rebel."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. Arya had seen that expression before. She was walking a dangerous line, right on the edge of his tolerance. She had first seen that expression nearly three years before, when she looked him in the eye and told him "anyone can be killed".

Arya had come a very long way since that day, but she still felt a flash of fear at that expression. She did not lift her chin though. She did not show her nerves. She stared him down, calm and steady.

"A house that puts the whims and wishes of its children before the legacy of the family is the house that falls," Tywin said. "If they resent me, that doesn't matter. I have to do what is best for the Lannister name. Objectively."

"Maybe." Arya smiled mirthlessly. "Except, you're not objective."

"What?"

"You're not objective," Arya repeated. "You only pretend to be. You pretend that you can judge a situation completely logically, but that's never been true. Especially not when it comes to Tyrion."

Tywin set down a book a little too hard on the desk. "We're not talking about Tyrion."

"Oh, yes we are," Arya said. "You were going to send people after him. Soldiers. Sell swords. You were going to send people after your son for a crime you _know_ he did not commit. You know for sure that he's innocent, but you were going to send people anyway. At least, until you realized you could use the situation to blackmail Jaime."

"I was never going to send people after him," Tywin said. "Jaime assumed I would. I'm the one who gave Tyrion a chance to leave in the first place."

"So you forced him out. Forced him to leave his home and live in exile. Explain to me why that's better?" Arya asked. "He didn't _do_ anything. In fact, he helped me to catch Lord Baelish the man who tried to assassinate you. And you decided to blame him for Joffrey's death?"

"Would you have preferred me to blame you?" Tywin raised his voice. "If I told Cersei that I knew for certain Tyrion did not kill Joffrey, I would have to provide her with the true culprit. And even if I didn't, eventually her suspicions would turn to you. Is that what you wanted?"

"Don't turn this on me. Whether or not Cersei would have blamed me is completely irrelevant to you sending Tyrion away. Don't pretend there weren't other ways you could have handled the situation." Arya's hand clenched so tight around the king that she thought she might crush the wood to dust. "But you didn't because you wanted a chance to get rid of Tyrion and a chance to manipulate Jaime. Then you don't have to accept a son that you hate as your heir. Even though Tyrion actually _wants_ the position and Jaime doesn't."

Now there was real fury in Tywin's eyes. The kind of fury that could shake a room. "Perhaps I should let my children do as they please then? As your father did? That worked out very well for him."

Now the rage welled up in Arya as well. He knew her weak points just as she knew his. And this was becoming a game of saying the exact worst things. "My father didn't die because of his children. He died because of yours. Because _your_ daughter couldn't control _your_ awful grandson," she practically spit the words through barred teeth. "And yes, I know my father was too honest and honorable and you think that made him weak. But he knew us. He knew who we were. You know _nothing_ about your children."

"Careful, girl," Tywin said coldly. "You're far overstepping. You forget your place."

"I don't forget anything. I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell."

"And my ward. You should remember that as well."

"Oh, how can I not?" Arya asked. "You remind me all the time that my life isn't mine. I'm a piece on your board as well. I know. I'm aware. But I still have a tongue and no one is stopping me from using it."

Tywin circled around the desk. Without the barrier between them, Arya was suddenly aware of how much taller he was than her. It took everything in her not to take a step back. She planted her feet on the carpet and stayed grounded. "I thought you had grown out of that reckless bravery. I see I was mistaken. Don't forget, I have a confession from you. If you're so anxious to prove Tyrion's innocence then perhaps you would like to face trial for it."

Arya lifted her chin. "Fine then. Write Cersei. Do it. I won't stop you."

Tywin gave a single mirthless laugh. What a hollow, terrifying sound it was. "You've played this game before. Pretending you're not afraid to die."

"I'm not pretending anything. I'm terrified of dying," Arya said. "So are you. I've seen it in your eyes. But I was willing to die to kill Joffrey. If he didn't drop from poison-if he sentenced Robb to death-nothing on earth could have stopped me from ripping his throat out. I would have been executed for it. But I would have done it anyway. So go on. Send a messenger after Cersei. Tell her. I'll wait."

A tense silence hung between them, heavier and more frightening than Arya had ever heard before. In her hand, she clutched the broken king like a lifeline. Her hand was trembling, but the rest of her was still. They had both called each other's bluffs, trying to see who would surrender first. And Arya was far too furious to waver. She was a ward to the Lannister family. Her whole life was in his hands. But she did not intend to give in quietly to his demands. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell and she would be a wolf until the day she died.

At last, Tywin spoke. But not with a death sentence. He gave her two cold, clipped words. "Get out."

Arya took a step back, holding his gaze. She let the king slip from her fingers and fall between them on the ground, like a gauntlet thrown in challenge. "Yes. My lord."

Then with a mock bow, she turned and strode from the room.

Only when she reached the foot of the stairs did she sag against the wall. Her breath left her in one shaky gasp and she felt a bit dizzy. There were no words...for how stupid that was. Tywin Lannister held her very life in his hands and she had just dared him to crush it.

At that very moment, he was probably thinking of how he could kill her without causing another war. Fine. She didn't care. It felt good to speak truth to the man for once.

 _The lion has claws, Lord Tywin. But the wolf has powerful jaws and teeth to match._

* * *

In the aftermath, Arya went to find Jaime. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because she had to talk to _someone_ about what just happened and Tyrion was no longer here for that. Neither was Shae. And she certainly wasn't going to speak to the new King about this. Jaime was the only one.

Fortunately, he was not hard to find. He was in their practice room, running through his drills, flipping his sword in his hand. The other half of her father's blade. What a beauty it was as it flashed in the light.

"Ah, Lady Stark. Come to practice?" Jaime sheathed his sword. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm sure," Arya murmured. "Jaime...if I die in the next few days, it was your father who did it."

Jaime blinked rapidly. "My father...Did you do something stupid?"

"I said something stupid," Arya said. "Several things actually." She felt a bit dizzy remembering the conversation. What was she thinking talking to him like that? What made her think a hostage could get away with such words?

Jaime rested a hand at her shoulder. "You should sit. You truly look ill."

Arya let him guide her to one of the crates. He sat down beside her.

"Good. Now, tell me."

Arya did. She told him as much as she could anyway. The only detail she left out was her part in Joffrey's death. Joffrey was his son, after all, and she didn't trust him with those words. Not yet. Jaime listened in stunned silence as she recounted the fight and when she was finished he let out a long breath, resting back against the wall.

"Seven _hells,_ Arya."

"I know."

"I mean...it's true. Everything you said. But that just makes it worse."

"I know."

"I cannot believe you toldhim that."

"Yes, I _know,"_ Arya snapped. "I don't know what even came over me. I was angry about Tyrion. That was the main thing. And then I just...ended up saying so much more."

"You managed to hit just about every sore point for my father," Jaime said. "The only worse thing you could have done is if you had brought up my mother."

"Please, Jaime. I have _some_ survival instincts." Arya rested her head between her hands. "Not many apparently. Do you think he'll kill me? Or my family?"

"No. You were right to call his bluff. He's always reluctant to change plans once he's made them. And he doesn't want war and he has his legacy riding on you now. On you and me of course," Jaime said. "I'm actually surprised the screaming match wasn't about our engagement."

Arya laughed once. "No. I was far more furious about what he did to Tyrion. The blackmail and the manipulations...that's what angered me more than the match itself." She looked up at him. "Not that I'm happy about the match at all. I think I've mentioned to you before I don't want to be married."

"Multiple times yes," Jaime said.

"But...and this may surprise you...I don't find you completely awful. As a person I mean."

"Gods, what high praise you give."

Arya smacked him on the shoulder. "I just mean...I know who you are. That makes you a better option than most. Your father isn't marrying me to some old man I've never met. Just a...slightly old man who I have met."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Slightly old?"

"You are more than twice my age."

"Fair. And I do feel awful about that, believe me."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Besides that, you're one of the few lords in Westeros who wouldn't take away my sword. So it's not the worst arrangement in the world."

Jaime exhaled. "No. I suppose not."

"And you?" she ventured cautiously.

"Well, I never wanted to marry nor have children. Much like you," Jaime said. "I thought joining the King's Guard would make me safe from that. But I don't find you completely awful either." He smirked. "I'll go a step further and say you are often tolerable."

"Our affection for each other knows no bounds," Arya said.

Jaime looked up at the ceiling with a small smile. "Most marriages don't start with much affection. They're political moves and love isn't political. We don't get to choose who we love."

No. Arya supposed that was true.

"I've never loved anyone," Arya said. "And I never really thought anyone would love me. I've always been compared to Sansa. She was the lovable one in my mind. In everybody's mind."

"You don't look much like your sister, it's true." Jaime glanced at her. "You look like your aunt though."

"My aunt?" Arya asked.

"Yes. Lyanna Stark. She died before you were born of course. But I knew her, if only briefly." Jaime laughed once. "She wasn't a delicate beauty, but when she disappeared with Rhaegar Targaryen it started a whole bloody war. There must be something powerful about a woman who can do that."

"You think I'm going to start a war?" Arya raised an eyebrow. "Will men raise their armies for me, the great beauty of House Stark?"

"Well, who knows? You're young. You have plenty of time to start wars," Jaime grinned.

Arya stared up at the ceiling. "I'll put that on my list of ambitions then."

"Good," Jaime said. "The point is, so long as we're stuck in an engagement neither of us want, we can agree to be decent to each other. That will make life bearable enough."

Arya nodded once. "Yes. I can agree to be decent."

"Good." Jaime stood. "And now, I think we should practice. You wanted to learn how to swing a knight's sword. I can teach you some things."

Arya smiled slightly. Fighting was just what she needed to take her mind off of her great fight with Tywin. But even as she practiced she could not shake the sinking feeling in her gut. The realization that she may have fallen out of the Lord of House Lannister's good graces.

He was her captor. The man who had control over her entire life. By all accounts he was a cruel, ruthless, awful man.

So why did it bother her, losing his favor?

Why did she care?

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _ **Tywin: Well at least I've shut down all my children now  
**_

 _ **Arya: *showing up at his door with a mile long, well thought psychological analysis of all the reasons he sucks* Haha, you sure?**_

 _ **I've known I would have to write the argument between Tywin and Arya for MONTHS and boy did I NOT WANT TO DO IT. I hate writing arguments. Like, truly scathing arguments between two characters who's relationship I'm invested in...I hate it. It is REALLY HARD.**_

 _ **But, all that to say, I think it came out well. I ultimately enjoyed the final product (and the Arya and Jaime convo was a great palet cleanser afterwards). Next time, the new arc gets its start and we're doing a little bit of a time skip! Not a super long one but...well you'll see.**_

 _ **For all you Stark fans, the Stark family is gonna feature majorly in the next arc so it should be fun! Review, subscribe etc and have a good day.**_


	29. Chapter 29: The First Year of Winter

**_A/N: Welcome to the aftermath of The Fight and the beginning of our new (and longest) arc. It's gonna be a wild ride so strap in and enjoy!_**

 **Chapter 29: The First Year of Winter**

Two days after Arya had rather unwisely snapped at Tywin, the first snow fell at King's Landing. It did not stick to the ground for long, but it was reminder that the winter had truly come to the south. It was soothing to Arya's very soul to feel the bite of the cold air again. When everyone else had abandoned the gardens, she sat outside and let the snow fall all around her.

She breathed in deep and thought of home.

Over the next few months, the snow fell more often and the air grew colder. Snowdrifts built up along the castle walls and the flurries blanketed the gardens in white. Arya watched the snow pile from her window and often walked amongst it, leaving footprints in the white expanse.

And all the while, she did not speak to Tywin Lannister.

She saw him when she went to court, sitting beside Tommen as the young king addressed the concerns of the peasants. It was a challenge for one's first year as king to also be their first winter. Tywin helped Tommen when he did not know how to reply.

But those were the only times she saw him. He did not call her to the Tower of the Hand on any business. He did not retaliate for the argument, but he also seemed to be ignoring her existence entirely.

As much as Arya loved the cold in King's Landing, the winter brought with it strange isolation. Just a short time ago she had Tyrion and Shae. But they had left together on the ship, taking with them Bronn and Podrick as well.

In the beginning, when the snow was still fresh, Tommen ventured out occasionally to watch the flakes (he had never truly seen snow, after all). Arya was fortunate enough to watch his face light up at the sight. The crown, and everything that came with it, had weighed down his smiles as of late. But sometimes, Arya caught glimpses of the old Tommen.

"It's amazing that something so beautiful causes so much trouble," Tommen said. "I hear it snows even in summer in the North."

"It does," Arya said. "Summer snows. They're one of the things I missed the most about home."

"It must be very cold up there now. I'm not sure how the northmen cope." Tommen shivered under the gust of an icy wind.

"We're made of strong stuff, your Grace." Arya smiled. "Our blood keeps us warm."

"It doesn't keep most people warm," Tommen said. "Grandfather says that there will be many problems to deal with in the winter. A lot of people will die. A lot of people will run out of food. He says it's inevitable."

"If the north keeps _our_ people alive in the winter, the south can do the same," Arya muttered. "Lord Tywin is just being cynical as always."

Tommen gave her a look. "Did you and my grandfather have a...disagreement?"

Arya crossed her arms, staring intently at a nearby hedge. "What makes you ask that?"

"Well, he's been colder than usual over the past few days. And once when Varys mentioned your name during the small council meetings...he seemed rather angry."

"It's nothing," Arya said. "Nothing you need to worry about, your grace. I can handle it myself."

"How are you going to handle it?"

"I'm going to avoid him until he forgets the disagreement happen."

"I don't think Grandfather forgets anything."

"Then I will avoid him until he dies of old age and I won't have to worry about it anymore."

The conversations with Tommen were welcome, but they died as the winter truly settled over King's Landing. After a few months she barely spoke to him at all. He was too busy to venture into the gardens, and the wind was too cold for a summer born boy like him.

The winter also saw the exit of the flowers. The ones in the garden and many of those that came from High Garden. Lady Olenna and her household set out to return home soon after the first snows. But she did manage to catch Arya one more time in conversation when she crossed paths with her in the courtyard just before they left.

"It has been a pleasure to watch you, Lady Stark," Olenna said, clasping Arya's hand between her wrinkled palms. "You've had an intriguing effect on this place. It's rather a shame I can't stay to see more of it."

"I'm sorry to see you go," Arya said.

"Oh I don't think you care much either way," Olenna said. "Margaery does like you though. It was her hope to betroth you to Loras, and I thought it was a rather good idea as well."

Arya blinked rapidly. "I...what?"

"Oh, you wouldn't have heard of these plans," Olenna said. "And Lord Tywin sadly murdered them in their crib. Though I must say, engaging you to his son..." She patted Arya's hand. "I did not expect that."

 _Neither did I,_ Arya thought. _I wonder if he's regretting that now._

"Well, it puts you in an ideal position," Olenna said. "Here, you're casting ripples through the keep. With enough power...you'll cast monstrous waves."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Thank you...Lady Olenna. It's kind of you to say."

"Not kind. Just true," Olenna said. "Continue to play your cards right, Lady Arya. Don't fold a good hand like this."

Arya watched the Tyrell caravan pulled away, thinking of those words. Wondering if she already _had_ folded her hand.

One moon into winter, the gardens emptied completely, and Arya was left with very few companions. The only person who seemed to share her feeling of isolation was Jaime. He was released from his vows as a King's Guard, and thus was relieved of many of his old duties. With that he had more free time, but neither of his siblings around to share it with. Tyrion was across the sea and Cersei was at Casterly Rock.

So, in those winter months, they spent a surprising amount of time in each other's company. They sparred mostly. Fighting was an escape for the both of them, and they each wanted to get stronger. Better. Jaime was improving greatly with his left hand, but Arya had improved along with him. She would never match his strength, but she learned how to use hers.

Three moons after the first snow, Arya bled for the first time. She woke from fitful sleep in a puddle of red, her midsection cramping horribly. But she knew how to act through pain. She rose quickly and cut away the bloody sheets. She changed her soiled clothes as well, put every stained piece of cloth together and wrapped them in a layer of clean sheets. Later she would find a good place to burn them.

It wasn't the bleeding that worried her. Arya had bled from wounds plenty of times in her fifteen years. But she knew what this kind of bleeding meant. When she married, she would be fit to bare children.

There wasn't a point in hiding it, she knew. Someone would find out. And Tywin planned to marry her to Jaime as soon as she came of age. But she didn't want to give him a reason to push the wedding forward. She was enjoying her last months as Arya Stark.

Fortunately, Tywin was ignoring her at the moment, so he had no need to find out.

She wasn't why everyone called moon's blood the 'red flower'. It made it sound graceful and dainty. Instead it was messy, inconvenient and painful. It cut Arya's stamina in half and occasionally made her feel ill. Which meant, while she could hide it from most people, it was absolutely impossible to hide from Jaime.

"You're pale," Jaime said that afternoon after Arya had nearly stumbled dodging one of his strikes. "Do you need to sit?"

"No," Arya muttered. "I'm just fine." She went to hit him again but when he dodged she very nearly lost her footing. He caught her shoulder before she could.

"Are you sure?"

Arya cursed under her breath. "Alright. A short break."

She stalked away and leaned up against the wall, gratefully sinking to the ground. Why did it feel like she had been stabbed?

"You may need a maester," Jaime pointed out. "You're not usually like this."

"No," Arya said, a little too loudly. "I mean...That's alright. It's not fatal. I promise."

Jaime studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded once. "Ah. I see."

"You don't see anything," Arya muttered.

"I may not be a woman, but I do know how a woman's body works," Jaime said. "You could have taken a break from sparring today, you know."

"My teacher always said practice should be consistent."

"Well, that was when you didn't bleed once a month."

Arya let out a shaky breath. "Don't...tell anyone."

"I won't," Jaime said. "But if you're worried about my father moving up the wedding, he won't. He has a plan in mind. If he was in a hurry, we would be married already."

Arya nodded, running a hand through her hair.

"Have you spoken with him?" Jaime asked. "Since that day I mean."

"No. It seems we've both been effectively avoiding that," Arya said. "I always tried to walk a line with him...but I crossed it that day. And then dared him to do something about it. If I was in your father's favor before, I've fallen from it now."

"I'm not sure about that," Jaime said. "His favor is probably the only reason you're still alive."

The months continued to pass. Arya grew used to her moon sickness and to Tywin Lannister's silence. The winter was not as severe as many had predicted. Some even said that they would be in for an early spring. Others said that any spring that came would be a false one, followed by a harder winter. But while the temperatures were less severe, sickness proved a more dangerous foe than cold.

They called it Long Summer's Bane. It brought with it an awful cough, high fever, and in many cases, death. The last summer had lasted so many years that it made everyone more susceptible to this new winter's sickness. Particularly children. They died by the thousands all over the kingdom. Summer children who had only just seen their first snow.

But adults were not immune either. There were even some lords and ladies at court who perished. And the King's own executioner caught the disease. Arya had tried not to smile when she heard of Illyn Payne's passing. Another name off of her list. She imagined that some of the others had died too. Polliver. The Hound. The Mountain. As they were far out of her sight, she imagined the sickness had erased them. That would make her list much shorter. Only two names that she knew for sure were alive.

 _Cersei Lannister_

 _Tywin Lannister._

Arya did not catch the illness. She was a northerner in the south, used to this kind of cold. However, up north, the plague was apparently awful. In the severe temperatures, Long Summer's Bane carried off many children's lives.

In the ninth month after the snows began, Arya received a letter from home. She was with Jaime when Grand Maester Pycelle delivered it, and even before she split the seal, she felt the plunge of dread in her gut.

She read the words of the letter three times before she absorbed the words. Long Summer's Bane had come to Winterfell, and carried off Rickon with it.

Rickon. Her baby brother. He was only six years old when she and Sansa left Winterfell. It had been nearly four years since Arya had last seen him. He would have been nine. No...ten. He had already survived a siege as a hostage but the winter took him.

It was too cruel to even imagine.

Arya sank to the floor when she read the letter a fourth time, confirming her fears. Tears began to well up inside of her but she tried to shove them down.

"Lady Arya?" Jaime stood over her. "What is it?"

She handed him the letter to read because she didn't trust herself to speak. He skimmed it over in silence.

"Rickon," he murmured. "The youngest?"

Arya nodded once.

"I'm sorry," Jaime said.

"The last time I saw him...he was crying at Sansa and I not to leave him," Arya murmured. "I told him not to cry. That we'd see him again, so it was stupid to cry. I didn't know..." Two tears trailed down her cheek and she hurried to wipe them away.

"You couldn't have known," Jaime murmured. "No one could have predicted what an awful mess everything would become."

"I told him I would see him again."

"It wasn't your fault that you didn't make it back."

Arya looked up at him. He was right of course. But still...she had been down south for far too long. She should have made an effort to return sooner than this. "I have to go home, Jaime. I have to see his grave..." She swallowed hard. "I have to mourn him."

Jaime studied her for a long moment. "Well...We are at peace with the north. I don't suppose there would be any harm in you making a visit." He sighed. "But it's not up to me."

No. It wasn't up to him. Arya rested her head between her hands. "Fuck. I have to talk to him, don't I?"

Jaime let out a single, sad laugh. "Yes, Arya. You do."

* * *

It had been nearly a year since Arya had climbed the tower of the hand. She lingered at the foot of the steps for a while, staring up the winding passage. How many times had she made this climb? More than she could count. When she first came to King's Landing, her father occupied this office, and she had climbed to visit him several times. In the past three years, it had become Lord Tywin's office instead, and she came when he called. Because she was his hostage.

Hostages were not supposed to speak their mind to their captors. But for a while, it had seemed her speaking her mind had amused him. When he allowed her honesty, she grew more and more comfortable making her thoughts known.

Then she took things a step too far. She wondered, not for the first time, if he had thought about calling her bluff. Throwing her to the lions and letting her stand trial for Joffrey's death. Surely it must have crossed his mind.

Eleven months later, she stood here again, needing to ask him for something important. How unfortunate that she had ran through all of her goodwill with him.

Arya took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. She had put this off for too long.

He was writing letters when she entered, because of course he was. He did not look up at the creak of the door. Arya stood in the center of the room, keeping absolutely still. Waiting. Watching.

Tywin was always fond of letting silences drag on. But this was perhaps the longest Arya had ever endured. The anticipation ate away at her and she wanted nothing more than to shift from foot to foot, like a child caught doing wrong. But she couldn't. She had to stand strong.

At the same time, she kept her gaze slightly lowered. If she was going to get something from Tywin today, she couldn't fight him for it. So she stared at his desk instead of at him. She was surprised to see Tyrion's Cyvasse piece sitting on the edge with its still broken crown. She hadn't even known why she left it there.

"What do you want?" Tywin asked at last. The sudden break in the silence startled Arya. She tore her eyes away from the king to see him looking up at her.

"I...I came because..." Her voice came out soft and she cursed herself for it. "I have a request."

Tywin did not reply but he did not tell her to leave either. His expression was utterly unreadable.

"I just received word that my youngest brother is dead," Arya continued. "The Long Summer's Bane took him. And I..." She steeled herself. "I would like to go home. Just for a short time. I haven't been home in four years. I need to pay my respects."

Still he didn't reply. He regarded her, as if turning the request about in his mind. Then he went back to writing his letters.

Arya gritted her teeth together. He was toying with her, and it made her furious. Her little brother was dead and she was in no mood for games. But she couldn't snap at him. She knew better than that. "My lord, I'm not plotting an escape of any kind. I will return to King's Landing but...Please." The silence persisted, filled only by the sound of his quill scratching against paper. "If this is about eleven months ago...I'm sorry. What I said-"

"You're not sorry," he interrupted. "You're apologizing because you're desperate, nothing more. You're not sorry for any of it." Arya opened her mouth to reply but he kept talking. "It doesn't matter. I'll let you go."

Arya blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "Jaime will accompany you. So will some of our household guard, for protection on the road."

"And to make sure I come back," Arya said. "Thought...is sending Jaime with me...wise?"

"Any act against him would be an act of war, which your brother should be smart enough to avoid," Tywin said. "And if he is not smart enough to prevent a conflict, then I assume you will be."

Arya nodded once. She wasn't going to start a war. Tywin had more allies, more resources and the benefit of the winter drawing to a close. He would have the advantage in any war that began.

"So, you will go north, stay for a fortnight, then return," Tywin said. "By that time, your sixteenth name day will have arrived. And you will marry Jaime." He finished his letter and carefully folded the paper. "Is that clear?"

Arya nodded once. "Yes, my lord."

Tywin sealed the letter and held it out to her. "Deliver this to your brother Robb, directly. It is for his eyes only."

Arya nodded once and accepted the letter. "I'll take it to him."

"Good." Tywin nodded at the door. "Go."

Arya did not stay are argue. She turned and hurried from the room before the man could change his mind. Only when she was out of his line of sight did she let out a breath. She had never heard such an indifferent tone in Lord Tywin's voice-almost as if he had forgotten completely about their argument. But she knew that wasn't true. Lannisters never forgot anything.

It didn't matter though. The impending marriage to Jaime didn't matter either. Finally, after so many long years, Arya was going home.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So, as it turns out, the timeskip is just the length of time Arya and Tywin don't talk to each other. They are both garbage at conflict resolution that doesn't involve murder.**_

 _ **On the other hand, SADDLE UP everyone! We're going to WINTERFELL to shake some stuff up :D You can actually look forward to the beginning of this arc kinda being nice and peaceful cause I get to write Arya interacting with her family (some of whom she hasn't seen in four years). Lots of character development. But don't worry, the arc will get dramatic soon enough.**_

 _ **Also, important to note: No one knows about Jaime pushing Bran out the window in this universe. I know that Jaime told Catelyn in the show but I've deleted that for dramatic plot reasons. No one knows and Bran has not recalled anything yet.**_

 _ **Whatever the case, thanks for reading! Review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	30. Chapter 30: The Road Home

_**A/N: Alright, and we're back! This time with some Starks at the beginning of the chapter :) Say hello to Sansa, Robb and Catelyn everyone!**_

 _ **Also, since there were questions about the winter timeline: In the timeline of this story, the 'end of summer' began four years ago. But winter was not declared officially started until two years ago in the north and one year ago in the south. Obviously winter gets an earlier start in the north and takes a bit to really move to King's Landing.**_

 _ **The talk of winter "ending soon" is going to lead to a false spring, followed by a harder winters. So the White Walkers are still coming but not as soon, because I need more time for character and plot development lol.**_

 **Chapter 30: The Road Home**

At Winterfell, Maester Luwin spoke of a soon to come spring-an end to the winter everyone said would be the worst in living memory. True winter in the North had not even lasted two years yet. It was not nearly as awful as everyone had said. But Sansa found it difficult to feel joy at the promise of spring in a few moons. Winter had robbed the north of so many summer born children, and with them: Rickon.

Seven days ago they had buried him in the crypt next to their father. Sansa's mother had wept openly. Sansa wished she had cried just as hard. But her time in King's Landing had wrung her dry of tears. Even after years at home, it still did not feel safe to cry.

This war had taken much from them. The north was tattered from the conflict. Her father was dead and her younger brother had joined him. Bran was crippled. Robb was aged from his role as Lord of Winterfell. And Sansa still fell like a shell of her former self. She hardly remembered the soft, sweet girl who had left Winterfell.

And Arya...well she was miles away, trapped in King's Landing. The place where their father had died. Who knew how time in that place had changed her. At the very least, Joffrey was no longer around to torment her. What joy Sansa had felt when Robb brought news of that wretched boy's end. She never thought death would taste so sweet to her.

The taste had soured again though. Thinking of Rickon in his last days, sick with fever...it made it hard to eat.

It weighed heaviest on her mother. Sansa could see grief etched in her face and her slumped shoulders. Even now as they sat side by side, repairing the stitches on some of their gowns, Sansa noticed her mother's fingers trembling.

"Do you need help?" Sansa asked softly.

Catelyn Stark shook her head. "No...Old fingers shake sometimes. Don't worry yourself."

Sansa sighed and went back to her own stitching.

The door opened and Robb burst suddenly through. "Mother...I'm sorry, I should have knocked. I just thought you would want to know."

Sansa's brow furrowed. His face was...happy. Happier than she'd seen it since before Rickon came down with sickness.

"What is it?" her mother asked, not looking up from her work. "If it's any terrible news, I'm not sure I can stomach it right now, Robb."

"It's not terrible," Robb said. "A raven from the capital. Arya is coming home."

Sansa's eyes widened. Her mother lost her grip on her needle and gown, letting it slide off onto the floor. She placed a hand over her mouth. "Gods...do you mean it?"

"Yes," Robb said. "She heard about Rickon and asked permission to return to honor him. Lord Tywin granted it. Only for a fortnight, and with a small host of Lannister guards. But she's coming."

Sansa watched her mother smile for the first time in weeks. "Oh, Arya. It will be good to have her here even for a few minutes." She stood. "We should make things ready for her."

"You can leave that to Talisa and me," Robb said. "There's no need to strain yourself."

"I am not so weak that I required bed rest," Catelyn replied. "And Talisa has Lyanna and little Ben to take care of."

True enough. Robb and Talisa's daughter was a year and a half and Ben, named for their uncle, was half a year old, and required quite a bit of care. The oldest, little Ned, was just shy of four years old. Sansa had been helping quite a bit with the children to take her mind off of Rickon.

"As you wish," Robb said. He watched as their mother swept from the room.

Sansa finished her last stitch before she stood. "It will be good to see Arya again. It's strange that they should allow her to visit. Suppose she decided to run."

"I suppose that's why they sent the guards," Robb said. "Jaime Lannister rides with her as well."

Sansa's brow furrowed. "That's stranger still."

"It could be his father wants to inspect things in the north. Make sure we're still truly loyal. Tywin Lannister is fond of tests," Robb said. "Though he comes at a dangerous time. His visit might intersect with the arrival of the Northern lords."

That was right. They were less than a month away from winter's second year (and the first year of true winter). It was the time for the Northern lords to gather at Winterfell and take stock of their losses and what they would need to survive the coming months. The northmen would _not_ be happy to see Jaime Lannister.

"If it does, we'll just have to hide the Lannister soldiers away," Robb said at last. "I don't want the Karstarks seeing even a strand of golden hair. Relations with them are tentative enough as it is."

"Yes," Sansa agreed. "I don't want to think about that right now. I'm just glad we'll have Arya back with us. It means she was able to adapt. If she was as wild as she was four years ago, they would have her locked in a cage for fear of her snapping at someone important."

"No cage, it seems," Robb said. "Just a leash. Still, we will have to be careful as long as Jaime Lannister is around. We don't want to say anything he deems treasonous."

"Don't worry," Sansa murmured with a bitter smile. "I've had lots of practice at keeping my thoughts to myself."

* * *

Arya Stark was clearly happy to be returning home, but Jaime was more nervous than anything else. He had not been back to Winterfell since she had, and he didn't much like the place. Time as a northern prisoner made him wary of Robb Stark and his allies.

And then of course there was Bran Stark.

It would have been quite a bit simpler if the sickness had claimed that boy instead. Years ago, when Bran had seen him with Cersei, he shoved the boy out the window and crippled him. It was a hasty decision. A bad decision. But he made it out of fear that their secret would be revealed to King Robert.

The boy had woken up with no memory of the incident. But what if he had recalled it again? What if he saw Jaime and remembered in a flash of panic the man who almost killed him. Peace or no peace, Robb Stark might kill him on the spot. And if he didn't, Arya would do the job.

He supposed if Bran Stark had remembered, he would have heard by now. He would avoid the boy if he could. He would avoid _all_ of the Starks if he could. He had managed to at least win Arya's trust and tolerance, but he doubted he would have much luck with the rest of them.

Especially if they found out about his engagement to their sister.

Arya's mood was much better than his. Despite her brother's death, she felt a clear freedom being away from the capitol. She had donned breaches for riding, and a warm cloak of green and gold over her deep grey tunic. She looked something of a perfect mix between House Stark and House Lannister in that moment. He wondered if she knew it.

She was barely recognizable as the scrawny, boyish child that served as his father's cupbearer four years ago. She could not hope to pass for a boy now, even if she did cut her hair again. If not for the two swords hanging at her hip, she would look like any proper lady. Of course, she had insisted on taking bother of her blades, in case she met with trouble on the road. When Jaime had asked if she intended to wield both in each hand, she shook her head.

 _No. I will choose between them, depending on how I feel._

 _How you feel?_

 _Yes. If I feel like stabbing someone or taking off their head._

 _And the knife up your sleeve?_

 _For if I want to cut someone's throat._

Jaime's mouth twitched when he remembered it. A few moons from now, that strange, sometimes terrifying girl would be his wife. He had not quite wrapped his mind around that yet. Jaime had never wanted to marry. He had only ever wanted Cersei. They were born together. Grew up together. He had given up his chance at inheritance a long time ago because he only wanted his sister.

There were parts of him that still longed for Cersei. Or at least, the Cersei who once was. Time had turned her drunk and cold and borderline mad. He feared the person she had become, and he had not seen her since she had returned to Casterly Rock. But he longed for the Cersei he had before the war. Before life had changed her.

 _She's not coming back,_ he told himself often. _She's gone too far over the edge. She won't be as she was._

Nothing was as it was. Not even Jaime himself. Losing his hand had hollowed out parts of Jaime's soul. He had to confront his own weakness, something he hated doing.

Arya Stark had forced him to confront it. She had hit him until he fought back. Hit him until he found his soul again in his left hand.

They kept a quick pace north. Most nobles would stop often at various castles along the way, but Arya had no desire to linger with nobles or delay her return to Winterfell. The further they got from King's Landing, however, the more contemplative and almost nervous Arya seemed to become. The initial high of freedom had faded and now she seemed to dread what was ahead.

"You seem a bit at war with yourself, Lady Stark," Jaime said one cold morning. They had passed into the Riverlands and snow drifts grew increasingly more unforgiving. But the sun had come out to give them a respite from the snowfall. "If you don't mind me noticing."

"I do mind," Arya muttered. Jaime raised an eyebrow and she sighed. "But...you're right. I'm nervous to go home."

"Why?" Jaime asked. "Your family will be happy to see you."

"I've been gone for so long. Everything has changed since I left. I wonder how much of the old me I still have." She looked down at her hands. "What if I'm not what they expect? What if they barely know me anymore?"

"Hmm...well, I remember what you were like when I first met you. Outspoken, impulsive. Occasionally stupid." He smirked. "That part of you is still there."

"I've gotten much better about all of those things," Arya protested.

"Really? Because according to your...conversation with my father several months ago..."

"That was an _exception."_ Arya sighed and looked up at the sky. "I'm not sure why he let me leave King's Landing after that. I thought he would deny any request I made on principal."

"He might have, if this trip didn't suit him," Jaime said. "But it allowed him to set a clear date for the wedding. And you're acting as a trustworthy courier for that letter he gave you. My father can hold a grudge, but he usually does things with purpose."

"He's still angry at me," Arya said. "He didn't...say it. His voice didn't even change. I just...felt it in the air."

Jaime studied her. "Does that bother you, Lady Arya?"

"No," she said, almost too quickly. "Obviously not. He can be angry at me if he wants. I'm his _hostage._ I have more right to be angry at him."

"So it _does_ bother you," Jaime said. It was a statement, not a question.

She glared at him. "I just said it didn't."

"I know. You're lying," Jaime said. He almost laughed at the look she was giving him. If a glare could kill..."You know, some of us spent quite some time trying to convince you that you had my father's favor. I saw it immediately. Tyrion saw it immediately. Cersei saw it too, which only made her hate you more. And most importantly, Aunt Genna saw it. She and Uncle Kevan are the foremost authorities on my father."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Arya asked.

"Because at the same time, we could see that he had your favor too," Jaime said.

Arya's jaw clenched. She really was just as stubborn as his father. And just as unwilling to admit any sort of weakness. It was no wonder they used to get along. "You're wrong. He doesn't have any of my favor."

Jaime smirked. "You always get angry when you're defensive and lying."

Arya fell silent, her expression sullen.

"I understand. You feel guilty about it. He is the head of the Lannisters, after all. The enemy of your family," Jaime said. "But he also gave you a sword, and he doesn't force you into the mold of a perfect lady. So it's all a bit conflicting for you."

"If you have everything _so_ figured out, then why ask?" Arya asked.

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," Jaime said. "Anyhow, you're not alone. Everyone hates my father at least a little bit. Even his family. But he has a way of making you want his approval none the less. When you actually meet his expectations...it's an addicting feeling." He shrugged. "And you meet his expectations more than most. I can understand why you would favor him in spite of yourself. And why it bothers you to be out of his favor now."

Arya studied her hands. Her expression had gone from angry to pensive. "Tyrion is supposed to be the one who understands people. Not you."

"He's my brother. I learned from him," Jaime said. He hadn't heard anything from Tyrion since he left. He liked to assume that was good news. He imagined Tyrion finally travelling the world, free from his father's expectations. He had always wanted to see Essos after all.

They lapsed into silence for another few hours as they travelled along the King's Road. It wasn't until they stopped to rest for the night at an inn that she renewed the topic.

"I've hated the name Lannister more than any other," she said. "The way my father talked about you all...said your names...it was easy to think of you all as monsters in human skin."

Jaime could believe that. Ned Stark said the name Lannister like it was poison. And _Kingslayer_ like Jaime was some devil.

"Then after all that happened, it only became easier to hate your family," Arya continued. "When I met your father, I wanted to put a knife through his back. And when I came back to the keep, I did not want to like any of you. I resolved to hate every single Lannister. Then you all started making it so damn difficult. Tyrion was kind to me, but he didn't treat me like some fragile lady. You sparred with me, and didn't take away my sword. Tommen talked to me as if he didn't even _know_ I was a daughter of a traitor. He wanted to make me feel welcome."

"You sound like we did something awful by treating you kindly," Jaime said.

"You did," Arya said. "You forced me reconsider everything I felt. Do you know how hard that is? Hate is a comfortable emotion. It's consistent. I hated Joffrey and I hated Cersei. At least they had the good grace not to prove me wrong."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "And my father?"

Arya looked up at him. "Your father didn't treat me kindly. Worse. He took me seriously. Almost no one in my whole life has taken me seriously. When they saw me playing knight, they laughed and assumed I would grow out of it. Even my family was like that. Wild Arya. It's just a child's phase. She will move past this. In the beginning, you and Tyrion also looked at me as a girl playing a game with a sword. Don't try to deny it."

"I won't," Jaime said. "You're right. That's exactly how I saw you."

"I can count on one hand the number of people who took me seriously from the very first. Without me having to ask for it. Without me having to fight for it," Arya murmured. "My brother Jon. My first teacher, Syrio Forel." She twisted her fingers about each other. "And your father."

"I see," Jaime said. What a thing that was for her to admit. He imagined even her own father, who she loved so dearly, had expected her to grow into dresses and sewing needles one day. "And that won him your favor more than a kindness ever could."

Arya shrugged. "Not that it matters now. I burned a bridge with Lord Tywin. I'll never have his favor again. Which is for the best."

"Is it?" Jaime asked.

"Yes," Arya murmured. "It makes everything less confusing."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Not an action packed chapter, but lots of fun for CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT which is my favorite thing to write. Arya will be home next chapter and we'll get all the fun filled interactions that come with that. Until then, review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	31. Chapter 31: Winterfell

_**A/N: Alright, it's what you've all been waiting for! A super long chapter of reunions :) You'll see why I couldn't tie this to the last chapter, cause this sucker is nearly 5,000 words long. Without furtherado, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 31: Winterfell**

As the snowdrifts climbed and the temperatures dropped, Arya began to recognize the countryside. Travel had been slow because of the winter, but after just shy of a month of riding, they were finally close to Winterfell again.

Arya knew these woods and these fields. She used to go riding here, whenever she could. And when she couldn't she stared out at the expanse from the walls of Winterfell and breathed in the familiar air. They were close...so close.

Then, as they came over the crest of the snowy hill: she saw it. The familiar walls with the direwolf sigil flapping at the towers. Winterfell.

How young she was when she last left her home. Only twelve years old, and so naïve about the evil in the world. She had read about evil in her books and dreamed about conquering it one day, sword in hand. But she had never truly understood it. She had not met evil until she met Joffrey on the riverbank.

The girl Arya was four years ago had liked to think of herself as tough and untouchable. Invincible. But that girl had not seen battle or death. She had not killed.

Melancholy and nostalgia wove themselves together in her heart as she looked on. How bittersweet it was to return.

"You're home, Lady Arya," Jaime murmured from beside her.

Arya nodded once and urged her horse into a canter. The Lannister guards followed close behind. She could not reach the gate fast enough in her mind. All of her nerves disappeared, at least for a moment. Home. Home. She was home.

A large shape blocked her path and her horse squealed and slid to a stop. The other horses stopped behind her as well.

"Seven hells," one of the Lannister soldiers cursed. "What _is_ that?"

"Now I know we're in Stark country," Jaime muttered under his breath. "That's a direwolf."

It was. In fact, it was a rather familiar direwolf to Arya. Greywind. She had not seen him since he was small, but she recognized his coloring well. He stared straight at her, his eyes calm. There was blood on his muzzle from a recent hunt. One of the Lannister soldiers started to draw his bow and he growled, raising his haunches.

"Wait," Arya said. "Put your bow away."

"I'm not eager to lose my arm," the soldier protested.

"Then you'll put your bow away before I cut it off," Arya snapped. She hopped off her skittish horse, handing the reigns to Jaime.

"Arya, I don't...recommend this," Jaime said slowly.

"Recommend what?"

"Whatever you're about to do."

Arya sighed. "Trust me. It will be all right." Then she turned and stepped toward Greywind.

With the Lannister guard's bow stowed away, his shoulders had relaxed again. He did not flinch or bar his teeth when Arya approached. He just watched her. The direwolves had such intelligent eyes.

A few feet in front of him, Arya sank to her knees on the snow covered road. "Hey boy," she murmured. "It's me...Do you remember me?"

For a moment, Greywind didn't move, and Arya held her breath. She wondered if she even smelled familiar to him anymore. If he recalled her after so long a time.

But then he closed the distance between them, sniffing her face. She reached out and gently stroked the fur of his neck and he did not shy away. Arya very nearly cried as she wrapped her arms around his great neck and buried her face in his fur.

Even after years away, wolves never forgot their pack.

* * *

Sansa stood in the courtyard with the rest of her family, waiting to receive her sister. They were in a line: Robb, the Lord of Winterfell. Talisa, his wife. Then their mother and Sansa herself. Meanwhile, the young ones, little Ned, Lyanna and Ben, were with the new septa, unable to stay for too long in the freezing air. Bran was inside for the same reason. The wind made his chair far too cold, and Maester Luwin said he was more susceptible to illness.

They were surrounded by their household guard, including Brienne of Tarth. The lady warrior had remained the sworn sword of the Stark household for the past several year, but she especially looked after Sansa and her mother. When she heard the Lannisters would be coming, she was especially determined to do her duty.

"I won't have them make any trouble here," Brienne said. "If any of them try, I will knock them into the snow."

"We'll try to avoid fighting if we can," Sansa said. "Especially with Jaime Lannister."

"That man loves to pick fights whenever possible," Brienne said. "I would know. He was my prisoner for a time. But, as you say, I won't let him goad me."

"Good," Sansa said. "I'm more worried about Robb than you, if I'm being honest."

Still, Sansa did feel safer with Brienne as her guard. She was an astonishingly tall woman and had all the strength that Sansa lacked. And she reminded Sansa quite a bit of Arya's fighting spirit.

She hoped that Arya still had that spirit.

The gates opened and Sansa drew in a deep breath. It was a similar scene to over four years ago, just on a smaller scale. A long awaited arrival. Lannister colors passing through the gate. But it was a far smaller group of visitors this time, and many people from that day were dead and gone. Her father. Her youngest brother. Ser Rodrick. Jory and all of her father's household guard. Robert Baratheon. Joffrey.

The winter had many casualties, most of them bad.

But Arya road at the head of the small group, atop a midnight black horse. She wore breeches, which was not at all surprising for Arya, but the rest of her clothing actually looked quite fine-befitting a noble lady. Her hair was tossed by the winter wind, and longer than Sansa had ever seen before. She carried herself taller, with a straight back and her head held high. She really had grown up from Sansa's annoying little sister.

Arya swung off her horse and landed gracefully on the ground, handing the reigns off to a stable boy. She approached them slowly at first, almost cautiously. She stopped in front of Robb, dipping into a little curtsy. "Lord Stark."

Robb raised an eyebrow. "Lord Stark?"

Arya raised her head, a little smirk coming to her face. _That_ expression was distinctly Arya. "I'm just trying to be proper."

Robb laughed once and welcomed her into his arms, holding on tightly. Sansa's heart felt a little lighter at that. Yes, this was still her sister, even after years trapped in King's Landing. Arya had not let them break her.

No sooner had Robb released her from his hug, their mother swept in for an embrace. "My sweet girl. Is that really you?"

"Yes, I promise." Arya's voice broke a bit. "I'm just a few inches taller."

"More than that," Catelyn pulled back, brushing her hair from her face. "You've grown up, Arya. You're beautiful."

Arya's cheeks reddened slightly at the words. She was not accustomed to be called that, Sansa knew. "Oh...I...am I?"

"I wouldn't lie," their mother smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "Not after all of this time."

"Arya," Robb said as Catelyn stepped back. "You have not met my wife. This is Talisa."

"A pleasure, Lady Talisa" Arya dipped into a quick curtsy. She had gotten much better at that, and the courtesies sounded more natural from her lips. "I'm happy to finally meet you."

"And I you, Lady Arya," Talisa smiled. "I've heard so much about you from your brother. He says you're one of the bravest people he has ever known."

"You must be brave yourself. To enter the Stark family in such times," Arya said. "Did you have hard winters where you come from?"

"Nothing like this," Talisa said. "I'm adjusting."

"I am too. I've been down south for too long," Arya said.

"You have," Sansa spoke up. "You were always more suited to the cold than I."

Arya turned toward her, her smile softening. "You look like you're doing fine. And gods, did you have to get so much taller? I grew a few inches and you grew half a foot."

Sansa couldn't help but laugh, drawing Arya into a hug. "You look well. You must have listened to my advice."

"Half of the time," Arya said. "Just enough to make it this far. But I'm still very much myself."

"I can certainly tell that," Sansa pulled back. "Has anyone noticed that Arya is carrying a sword?"

"She's carrying two swords," Robb said.

"Travel on the road is difficult." Arya lifted her chin. "Shouldn't I defend myself?"

"Isn't that the purpose of the guards?" their mother asked.

"Lady Arya would never leave it to other people to protect her."

Sansa turned to see Jaime Lannister approaching, almost cautiously. He had lingered a little ways back, as if not knowing how to speak to the Starks. Sansa supposed that made sense. He had been a prisoner of Robb's for some time. There was little warmth between them.

"Lannister," Robb said coolly. "I hope the trip was not too difficult for you."

"No, not so difficult," Jaime said. "I hope my stay here will be just as easy."

"That depends on you," Robb replied.

For a moment there was silence between them and Arya looked on tensely. Jaime cast her a glance before he exhaled. "I have no quarrel with you anymore, Lord Stark." He extended his left hand. "Let's make peace for now."

Robb hesitated for only a moment before he accepted. "Yes, for now. Winterfell has suffered too much death already." He glanced down. "Is something wrong with your right hand, ser?"

"Yes, it's missing. Kind of you to notice," Jaime said. "I lost it at the Battle of Dragonstone."

"I hear Stannis perished at that battle," Brienne spoke up from behind Sansa. Jaime turned, as if noticing her for the first time and grinned.

"Indeed he did, Lady Brienne. That must make you happy. I'm afraid I didn't do the deed myself."

"It does not matter who killed him as long as justice was served," Brienne said flatly.

"Ah, you haven't changed. That's good," Jaime glanced at Arya. "You should spar with that one if you get the chance. You'll enjoy it, trust me."

Arya's mouth twitched into a smile. But she looked nervous, as if she was waiting for him or someone to say the wrong thing.

"I don't suppose _you_ will be sparring with Brienne," Robb said. "It must be difficult to fight with your left hand."

Jaime did not take the bait of the comment. Strange. Brienne said that he liked to pick fights. "I manage well enough. Your sister saw to that."

Robb gave Arya a look and Arya shrugged, looking suddenly nervous. "I...like to spar. I practiced with him sometimes."

Jaime glanced at her, a small question in his eyes, and Arya shook her head once. They were speaking without saying any words-passing some secret between them that Arya clearly did not want to say out loud.

"We should get out of this cold," Sansa broke in, feeling the sudden instinct to rescue her sister. "I'm sure Arya is weary from the journey."

"Yes," Arya said, looking grateful for a reason to step away. "And I'd like to see Bran."

"I'll take you to him," Sansa said, looping her arm through hers. "Excuse us, everyone."

Sansa wasn't sure why Arya had seemed to freeze when Robb and Jaime spoke, but she knew that Arya rarely froze. Not unless she was hiding something.

What she was hiding, Sansa could not begin to know, but she guessed that in her four years away from home, Arya had acquired more than a few secrets.

* * *

It was only after greeting her family that Arya truly realized how many things she did _not_ know how to tell them. How did she explain her second sword, for one thing? How did she explain Tywin Lannister _giving_ her a sword without explaining all of the events that led up to that gift? How did she explain that her new sword was one half of Ice: her father's sword which, by all rights, should have been Robb's? How did she explain Joffrey's death without revealing the role she played in it? And how in the world could she tell them about her engagement to Jaime without starting a fight?

Arya knew Tywin had not informed her family of the match, and though there were rumors in the capital, she doubted many of them had come all the way to the north. Her family did not deal in spies, after all. Maybe Lord Tywin expected her to break the news on this visit which she did _not_ want to do. If Robb found out he might try to murder Jaime, which was a sure course back to war. If she could help it, Arya wanted to avoid causing yet another major conflict between the Lannisters and the Starks.

It would be best, perhaps, to keep quiet about everything. But they would ask questions. She knew that. She had become a much better liar, but she did not want to deceive her family.

Bran was sitting in the great hall, his chair in front of a window so that he could look out at the snow. There was a large book in his lap, and a stack of others beside him. Summer curled up beside his chair, keeping a watchful eye at the door. His great head rose when he saw Arya enter and he let out a little whine. Bran turned and smiled.

"I heard the commotion and figured you were here."

Arya smiled and rushed to Bran's side, hugging him tightly. "It's good to see you awake. Before we left..."

"I was still unconscious. That's right." Bran sighed. "We never got to say a proper goodbye."

"At least we got to see each other again." Arya pulled back from him. Summer nudged her hand with his nose and she laughed, stroking the fur of his neck. "And of course, I'm glad to see Summer too. He seems to remember me."

"The wolves always remember their pack," Bran said. "Even when they've been gone for a long time."

Arya smiled softly. "Did...you ever remember what happened that day? Why you fell?"

Bran shook his head, looking out the window again. "Sometimes, I start to remember in my dreams. But then I forget by the time I wake up. I have so many dreams lately; it's hard to keep them all straight."

"One day you'll remember," Arya promised him. She glanced down at the book in his lap. "What are you reading?"

"An old book," Bran said. "About the Long Night."

"He's been reading a lot of books from those times," Sansa said. "Fortunately, all of the maesters say that this winter will not be as long as originally thought. The worst of the winter is over. Spring will be here again within the year."

"There have been false springs before," Bran said. "There's no guarantee of a new summer."

Arya studied him. Her little brother seemed much grimmer than when she last seen him. And far older. His eyes had seen so much, and she imagined Rickon's death weighed heaviest on him. They were always so close.

Summer whined and nudged Bran's hand with his nose. Bran shook his head once. "Sorry...sometimes my mind gets lost in dark places. But you're home. There's no reason to be sad."

"There's plenty of reason," Arya murmured. Her returning home came at a great cost. Their brother had died. Her presence here could not replace him.

The door to the hall opened again and Arya turned to see Talisa entering. She had three little ones with her. A boy trotting at her right, a little girl being guided along at her left and a baby cradled in one arm. "Lady Arya. I thought you might want to meet your nephews and your niece."

Arya's eyes widened. "My...what?"

Sansa smiled. "These are Robb's children, Arya. The oldest boy is named Eddard for father. And the girl is named Lyanna for our aunt. The youngest is Little Ben."

"For Uncle Benjen," Arya murmured. She was bewildered. Arya had not even known Robb had children. He had never sent word of them. She knew, of course, that he was married. Tywin had mentioned that more than once when she was his cupbearer, citing it as a grave mistake because he broke his vow to Walder Frey. But...three children? An unexpected wave of joy washed over Arya.

"This is your Aunt Arya," Tailisa told them. "She's been away for a long while but she's come back to visit."

Arya knelt down to the children's eye level. The boy hid behind his mother's skirts while the girl was entirely unfazed. She reached out a tiny hand and Arya held out her own, allowing her to grasp two of her fingers.

"Awya," Lyanna said, not quite old enough to manage the 'r' sound.

Something inside Arya melted. "Yes, that's right. It's nice to meet you Lyanna." She glanced at Ned, the boy with her father's name. He was peeking suspiciously out from behind his mother. "Hello there, Ned."

The boy ducked behind Tailisa again.

"Come now, Ned. Don't be shy. Say hello," Tailisa urged. Once again, he poked half of his face into view. One grey eye peeked out from beneath dark curls.

"It's alright," Arya said gently. "There's no need to be afraid of me. I know I can be scary sometimes, but I would never be scary to you."

Ned cautiously stepped out from behind Tailisa. Then he gave Arya a little bow. "Lady Arya."

Arya laughed. "So formal and serious already."

"He makes an effort to imitate his father," Tailisa said. "He's always following Robb about whenever he gets a chance."

"He looks like him," Arya said. "Stark grey eyes."

"The boys both have those eyes. I'm afraid only Lyanna took more after me," Tailisa said.

Lyanna grasped at Arya's hair, running her little fingers through it. "Awya."

Arya winced when the girl caught a tangle and carefully detached herself so she could stand. She found the baby watching her curiously when she did. Sure enough, he had the same grey eyes, though his skin was darker like his mother's. What beautiful children they were. Arya hoped they would grow up happy and free of any awful wars.

"None of them fell ill?" she asked. "With Long Summer's Bane?"

"No, thank the gods," Tailisa said. "They've all been very healthy."

"They were born in winter," Bran said, looking up from his book. "They say Winter children are always the strongest."

"If that's true, little Ben will be the strongest of them all," Sansa said. "He was born in the midst of the worst blizzard I've ever seen. He'll grow up a might northman indeed."

"They all will, I'm sure," Arya murmured. "You've all done well here. I'm glad. There was a time when none of us were home."

"There have been a great many blessings," Talisa said. "Though also reasons to grieve."

Arya's heart clenched as she remembered the reason she had returned. Not just for reunions, but for a goodbye. "Yes. There are always reasons to grieve in this family." She looked at Sansa. "I should visit the crypt."

"I can come with you if you'd like," Sansa said.

"No." Arya smiled sadly. "I remember the way."

* * *

The crypts used to scare most of the Stark children, but not Arya. The moment her older brother suggested she might be scared, she banished all fear from her heart and marched defiantly down into the depths to prove him wrong. There was no reason to fear the dead after all. And back then, all of the statues had belonged to people who had died before she was born.

Now there were two new tombs. One for her father and one for Rickon.

When she stepped into the crypt, something stirred in the shadows. A faint growl made Arya rest a hand on her sword. But then, she recognized the eyes staring out at her.

"Shaggy Dog." She slowly crouched down. "It's good to see you again, boy."

The great black direwolf watched her, almost suspiciously. He had always been the wildest of the pack, never lacking for energy. Just like Rickon.

"Thank you for watching over him for us," Arya said. "I hope you still go out to hunt. Rickon would not want you to starve." She smiled sadly. "Or should I bring you something to eat?"

Shaggy Dog whined and approached her slowly. She reached out a hand and he nudged her palm with his nose, licking her skin once. "That's it. Good boy." Her heart shuddered and she struggled to hold back tears. "I'm so...sorry."

Shaggy Dog did not reply. He simply turned and trotted deeper into the crypt. Arya followed after him until she found herself in front of Rickon's resting place.

There was no statue yet to mark his grave, though she was sure one would be made in time. Her throat closed up as she imagined his pale little body, lifeless and cold. No...he would be long rotted now. It had been a month since he died. She wasn't sure which was worse to imagine.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "That I didn't come home sooner. I promised we would see each other again, and I couldn't keep that promise." She rubbed her fingers together. "I'm not sure. If there is a life after this one, perhaps we will see each other again. I tend to doubt it. I don't believe much in afterlives or gods anymore. But if it meant being able to see you again, perhaps I would." Tears trailed down her face. "I'm so sorry, Rickon."

She lingered in front of his grave, saying a few prayers to gods she no longer believed in. For his sake. Then, when she had avoided it long enough, she turned toward the statue of her father.

It didn't look like him. It was too cold and grim. She had known her father to laugh and smile often with her and that was the face she liked to remember. But still she felt his spirit in this place, and it weighed heavily on her.

"Father," she murmured. "I'm not sure this is the future you imagined for me, is it? You told me that one day I would marry a high lord. Did you think it would be a Lannister?" She shook her head. "I haven't told the others yet. I'm not sure I can. They'll be horrified once I do. I'm sure you would have hated it as well. You'd hate me being Tywin Lannister's ward too. A hostage in a game of war. But there's peace at least. Most of us are still alive. Is that enough?"

The stone did not reply, but still Arya kept talking. Being back home had brought so many long buried emotions to the surface.

"I have part of your sword," Arya drew it from her sheath and presented it to him. "Lord Tywin gave it to me. It's a bit of a long story. But at least one of your children has a piece of Ice." She turned the blade twice in her hand. "I know you didn't expect it to be me. A daughter. You always hoped I would grow up to be a graceful lady. You gave me a teacher, but part of you hoped I would drop the sword one day, didn't you? You never wanted me to see a real battle.

"Well...At any rate, I haven't seen a battle. But I have killed people. Five with my own hand. One with...with someone else's. What's that you always said? The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword? I didn't do that with Joffrey." Arya swallowed hard. "Would you have disapproved of that? Killing a king is a great crime, after all. Would you have been disappointed in me for what I did? I know you hated Jaime Lannister for killing an awful king once. But maybe I'm absolved because I'm not Kingsguard." She gave a mirthless laugh. "He has the other half of your sword you know. You must hate that. I don't like it either...even if he's not as awful as you always said. Not nearly."

For a moment, she lapsed into silence. She imagined her father was standing beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. What would his expression be if he were there? Angry? Proud? Disappointed?

"You always believed so much in honor," she murmured. "That it was the thing that held the world together. Lord Tywin says that the honor you preached was just an illusion. That no one is fully honorable." Her jaw clenched. "I think you're both wrong...to a point. The world isn't held together by honor. There's not enough of it to go around. It's held together by family. By people who would kill for each other. But...but I do still believe there are good people. Honorable people. Not many, maybe. But more than Lord Tywin believes."

Arya looked up at his statue again. "You were good. Truly. You were so good." A wave of sadness welled up inside of her. "I don't think I am. I don't think there's a limit to what awful things I would do to protect our family. I would lie. I would kill. I would violate every law in this world. The gods could not stop me." Tears fell fresh now. Bitter, awful tears. "And I'm sorry you have to see it."

Her father did not reply. Of course he didn't. He was dead and gone and he could not see.

But if by chance he could-If by chance his spirit lingered in this place or looked down on her for above-she was sorry for all that he would witness.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Ah, I loved writing the crypt scene. That one I actually wrote a while ago while I was piecing through Arya's character development. Everyone is happy to see Arya for now, but she would rather not tell them things to cause conflict and ruin the happiness. We'll see how long that lasts!**_

 _ **Also, if you want to follow me on Tumblr (sometimes I post Game of Thrones stuff, but mostly it's just my terrible sense of humor) you can find me as Kallypsowrites. And feel free to shoot me any asks there!**_

 ** _Until next time, review, subscribe, etc._**


	32. Chapter 32: Different

_**A/N: Bringing you another long chapter this week, full of little moments. Mostly featured are Robb, Brienne and, yes, JON SNOW :) I should mention a small continuity change: At this point Lord Commander Mormont is still in charge rather than dead.**_

 _ **In any case, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 32: Different**

Arya's arrival had brought mixed feelings to Winterfell. Of course, Robb was happy to see her, and less than happy to play host to the Lannisters. But more troubling than the Lannisters was the letter Arya carried.

Robb was worried to begin with when Arya gave him the letter-one Tywin Lannister had charged her to deliver to him directly. It meant he did not trust a raven to carry the words. Reading the letter, Robb saw why.

" _Broken vows often have a way of collecting their debts. Some families may be plotting to collect theirs. Beware the Freys and more than that, beware the Boltons and all those aligned with them. They are not your allies, Lord Stark."_

Robb had known to be wary of the Freys ever since he took Talisa to wife. But beware the Boltons? That was a new warning to Robb. More importantly, how did Tywin know that he should beware the Boltons? Had they tried to make some deal in the past when Robb was still in rebellion?

There were no specifics in the letter, perhaps because specifics would reveal Tywin's past plans, which Robb suspected were less than honorable. Now that the lion was determined to keep peace with their family, could his warnings be trusted?

His mother seemed equally worried by the note. "If Roose Bolton and Walder Frey are our enemies, we do have reason to fear," she said. "I've learned to fear words not delivered by raven."

"And what can I do?" Robb asked. "If I accuse Roose Bolton of treachery without proof or cause then that could throw the north into a civil war."

"We don't need to accuse him. We only need to watch him," Catelyn said. "All of the northern lords will be coming to court in a few days' time. This is an opportunity to observe Bolton and to see who is aligned with him." She paused for a moment, thinking "I...suggest you ask your sister what she thinks of all this."

"Arya?" Robb asked. "What would she know about it?"

"She has been in King's Landing for the past few years, near to Tywin," she reminded him. "He may have said something more to her."

"Tywin would not share this kind of information with a ward," Robb said.

"Perhaps not. But you know Arya. She absorbs everything like a sponge," Catelyn said.

That was true enough. And it struck Robb as odd that Tywin would trust Arya to carry the letter instead of one of his guards. Not to mention the sword at her hip. That was a very fine blade that he allowed her to carry. He could not help but wonder if Arya had found favor with her captor.

Robb could not fathom how anyone could find favor with that man. He was inscrutable and unmovable. Even so...it did not hurt to ask.

Since returning home, Arya spent a fair amount of time wandering the grounds, especially on days with a clear sky. So Robb also had to wander in order to find her. Eventually he tracked her to the courtyard where she was standing opposite Brienne, turning a sparring sword in her hand. Jaime Lannister was sitting off to the side watching them, wrapping the stump of his wrist with another layer of fabric to protect from the cold.

"I'm not quite sure of this, Lady Arya," Brienne said.

"I can't cut you with a sparring sword," Arya pointed out.

"That's...not what I mean," Brienne said.

"Don't underestimate her, my lady," Jaime called out. "That's her greatest advantage in the field."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have given it away," Arya cast him a glare.

Jaime smirked and shrugged.

Robb looked on, fascinated. There was a strange familiarity between them. At the very least, Arya did not speak to him as if he was her captor. She did not seem wary of him at all.

"Ignore him," Arya told Brienne. "Just come at me with your best. I did not get near as much practice as I wanted while on the road."

Brienne sighed at last and nodded. "Very well." She adjusted her grip on her sparring sword, then swung at Arya.

Arya took a step back, just far enough to avoid the tip of the blade. Brienne struck again and she dodged again, sidestepping and nudging the blade with her sparring sword to redirect it. Brienne seemed to be testing her to make sure that she could, indeed, carry herself in a fight.

To Robb's surprise...she could. Her footwork was rather effortless as she dodged and redirected Brienne's blows. Her expression did not even shift. She was completely calm and unreadable.

"Dodging is her specialty," Jaime said. "You'll never hit her like that."

Arya cast him a glare. "Why are you helping _her?_ Shouldn't you be on my side?"

"I want to see you both fight at your best. What's wrong with that?" Jaime waved his stump of a hand. "I can't fight at my best anymore. You-watch out!"

Arya spun to the side to avoid another attack from Brienne. The taller woman kept a straight face, but Robb could see the amusement in her eyes.

"You shouldn't let him distract you," Brienne said. "That will lose you this fight quickly."

Arya grinned. "Okay then. I won't."

The two women began to fight in earnest then. Robb could not help but watch. Brienne was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, partly owing to her outstanding strength and speed. She was a woman, but she was larger than many of his men. She had been a great help to them in quelling the Greyjoy rebellion.

But Arya...Arya was keeping pace with her.

She did not have Brienne's strength, but she matched her in speed. She fought with one hand and relied mostly on intricate foot work to keep one step ahead of her opponent. She never blocked the full force of Brienne's blows. Brienne would knock her down if she tried. She was just redirecting the momentum.

They circled around each other over and over again in the courtyard, Arya dodging and attacking fluidly, like water, while Brienne bore down on her with the brute force of a knight. Then Arya's left foot slipped on a patch of snow and Brienne knocked her back with the butt of her sword. Arya fell flat on her back with a gasp and Brienne moved forward, prepared to bring her sword down. Her next blow knocked Arya's sword from her hand. But his sister was not deterred. She rolled between Brienne's legs and stood to her feet again, just as Brienne brought her sword back and leveled it with her neck.

"That's you dead," Brienne said.

Arya smirked. "And you."

Only now did Robb notice she had pulled a knife and slipped it through the gap in the armor at Brienne's armpit.

"Well played," Brienne said. "But I still would have taken off half your head."

"And I would have punctured your lung. Better to die taking your enemy with you than not at all," Arya straightened. "You're good. Better than good. I suspect you were still taking it easy on me."

"I was wary of using my full strength yes," Brienne said. "Though even if I did, you were doing a sound job at dodging. I'm not used to fighting such a small opponent."

Arya smiled. "We will have to spar again then."

"Told you that you'd enjoy it," Jaime said.

Arya made a face at him. Brienne placed the sparring sword on the table, then turned to notice Robb. "Lord Stark."

Immediately, Arya tensed and looked to Robb, as if wondering how long he had been watching. "Robb. I...How are you this morning?"

"Well enough," Robb smiled. "Can I speak with you for a moment? It's about that letter you brought me."

"Right." Arya crossed to retrieve her two real swords. The needle like blade from Jon, and the other one...Where had she gotten that from, he wondered. "Lead the way."

Once Arya had strapped her blades to her belt, they crossed up onto the battlements of Winterfell, away from any prying ears. In the distance, Robb thought he saw Greywind and Summer passing through the trees. They often stayed outside the castle walls where they could run free. Direwolves didn't like to be caged, after all.

"Did you...read the letter that Lord Tywin asked you to deliver?" Robb asked when he was sure they were alone.

"No," Arya said. "He said it was for your eyes only."

Robb's mouth twitched. His sister had retained some honesty even after all of her time in King's Landing. "I hoped he might have mentioned something about it to you." He handed the letter to her. "Here."

Arya read over the letter quickly, her brow furrowed. Then she gave it back to me. "No. I don't know anything about this. But then again, I have not spoken with Lord Tywin in nearly a year."

Robb tilted his head to the side. "Did you speak with him often before that?"

Arya picked at the finger of her gloves. "I wouldn't say...often."

"More often than most wards talk to their captors?" Robb asked.

Arya exhaled. "Yes. That's likely."

A particularly icy gust of wind swept over them and they both shivered. Robb glanced down at her second sword again. "That's a fine new blade you're carrying. Did you name it?"

Arya smiled a bit. "Winter's Fury."

"That's a strong name," Robb said. "Where did you get it?"

She ducked her head slightly. Arya was not one to make herself smaller, but in that moment, she looked as if she wanted to vanish. "It was a gift. Well...not really a gift. More like a debt paid."

"A debt paid. By Tywin Lannister?" Robb asked. When she did not respond, he knew he was right. "What debt did he owe you?"

"I suppose he wouldn't have told you," Arya said. "He kept the details of his almost assassination rather quiet. He does hate showing weakness."

"What are you talking about?" Robb asked.

Arya looked up at him. "I saved his life. I was with him when the assassins came. I killed them and got him to the maester before the poison could take him."

Robb blinked, unsure for a long moment what to say.

"It was for you," she continued on. "I knew that if Lord Tywin died...you would never leave the city alive. But even though I didn't do it for him, he still paid the debt."

"I...I see," Robb said at last.

Arya's mouth twitched. "You find it hard to believe, don't you? That I've actually killed someone. You always thought I was playing a game when I tried to spar. But I know how to use a sword and I know how to use a knife. I don't play with either."

Robb exhaled. "It's not that, Arya. I've always known you were fierce and brave enough for ten men. And moments ago, I saw your skill with a blade. I just wish you didn't have to kill or fight."

Arya rested a hand on the hilt of her sword, running her fingers along the pommel. "I do _like_ fighting, Robb. It's not just a necessary evil for me. I enjoy it."

"And killing?" Robb asked. "Do you enjoy killing too?"

Arya stared out at the icy landscape. Her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed a bit too hard. In the silence, Robb knew the answer before she spoke. "Sometimes. Yes."

Robb's heart clenched. How much Arya had grown up since they handed her over to Tywin Lannister. At first glance, she was still his little sister. But the longer he looked, the more he saw the little changes. In the way she held her shoulders. In her measured tone when she spoke. In the hard glint in her silver eyes.

His sister absorbed everything like a sponge. And that included bits and pieces of Tywin Lannister.

Robb looked down at the letter in his hand again, very much wanting to change the subject. "In a few days, the northern lords will be coming to court. If Roose Bolton is a traitor like Lord Tywin suggests...we might find proof of it there."

"Would you like me to watch him?" Arya asked.

"Carefully," Robb said. "If you notice him talking to particular lords, let me know. Sitting up at the table, listening to everyone, I don't have an opportunity to watch."

"You can leave it to me," Arya murmured. "I'll let you know if I see anything suspicious. I'm rather good at watching people."

"Good," Robb said. "Also...tell Jaime Lannister to make himself very scarce. I'd prefer it if he locked himself in his room. The Karstarks will be coming. He killed some of their own in the war. I don't want to deal with the fallout of that."

"You could tell him that, couldn't you?" Arya asked.

"He seems more likely to listen to you," Robb said.

Arya fell silent, looking oddly nervous again. But Robb did not have time to push her for anymore secrets. He wasn't sure he'd like the answers.

He couldn't expect Arya to be unchanged. She was a hostage. A prisoner of war to perhaps the most dangerous man in the seven kingdoms.

The fact that she was alive and strong was blessing enough.

* * *

Even in Winterfell, Jaime tried to keep up his practice. It was important to drill relentlessly with his left hand until it became second nature to him. It would never be as effortless as with his right hand, but he could still be better than most men if he just worked harder at it.

The northmen gave him distrustful looks when they saw him practicing. He wondered if they were looking at his sword. Could they sense the metal of their old lord's sword in his blade? Unlikely, but still, he was aware of it.

" _Perhaps I'm angering Ned Stark's ghost,"_ Jaime thought. Lord Stark would be awfully furious to see him with even a small piece of his sword after all.

Brienne of Tarth distrusted him like anyone else, but she wasn't particularly afraid to speak with him. In fact, she was far more direct than most people, which Jaime found refreshing.

"Why did you come north with Lady Stark?" she asked.

"My father asked me to," Jaime said simply, turning his blade a few times in his hand.

"And why did he ask you?"

"My lady, I do not have access to my father's mind. No one does," Jaime said. "I suspect he wanted someone trustworthy watching his ward on her visit home."

"So you are not here with any darker intentions?" Brienne asked.

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "If I was, do you think I would confess them here?"

Brienne's eyes narrowed.

"Truce," Jaime sighed. "I don't want to fight. Despite what you think of me, I didn't come here to start trouble."

Brienne was quiet for a moment. "Strangely enough, you seem to be telling the truth."

"Yes. Strange, isn't it?" Jaime turned away from her swiping twice in quick succession with his sword. "A Lannister telling the truth. It's quite a novelty."

She did not rise to the bait of his sarcasm. "You are much changed since our last meeting."

"I think it's the missing hand."

"No," Brienne said seriously. "Not just the missing hand."

Jaime turned to face her. "Enlighten me then, my lady."

"For one thing, you've barely insulted me at all. That's different," Brienne said.

Jaime smirked. "Did you miss my insults, wench?"

"Not remotely, Kingslayer," Brienne replied without missing a beat.

Jaime sheathed his sword. "Ah, that old nickname. I expect I'll be hearing it quite often here."

"It's true, is it not?"

"Yes, yes. It's true," Jaime said tiredly.

Behind him, the gates opened. A lone rider cantered inside, dressed in all in black. It took Jaime a moment to recognize the newcomer. The winter had aged him. But it was still very clearly Ned Stark's bastard son. Jon Snow.

The bastard of Winterfell noticed Jaime almost immediately. A mix of anger and confusion crossed his face. "Lannister. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you." Jaime asked. "Not deserting the Night's Watch, are you?"

"No." Jon swung off his horse. "I'm here on behalf of the Lord Commander."

"You moved quickly up the ranks to be acting on the Lord Commander's behalf," Jaime said. "Did you kill anyone for it?"

Jon glared at him. He had his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "A few. Yes. You didn't answer my question."

"Relax, Snow. I'm just an escort."

"An escort for _whom_?" Jon asked.

"Jon?" a voice called from behind them. Jon's hand slipped off of his sword in an instant. Jaime barely turned before Arya rushed past him and launched herself into Jon Snow's arms. He caught her up in a tight hug. Jaime had not seen her embrace any of her other family with quite so much abandon. This was her favorite sibling, to be sure.

"Gods, Arya. I had no idea you were coming," Jon murmured when he set her down.

"I came when I heard Rickon had passed," Arya said. "And you?"

"Yes. The same reason," Jon said. "And to find recruits for the watch." He mussed her hair a bit. "It's so good to see you. I wouldn't think the Lannisters would allow you to come home."

"Hence the escort," Jaime said. "Not that she needs protecting."

Jon looked his sister up and down, as if checking her for any injuries the Lannister might have wrought. He noticed the smaller of her swords and smiled. "You kept it close."

"Always," Arya said. "It's the only thing I had of home."

"You've found a proper sword as well, I see," Jon said, nodding to the second blade on her hip.

"Needle is a proper sword as well," Arya protested. "Just smaller."

"I'm not jealous, Arya. I'm glad. I'm glad you're allowed to carry it." He glanced at Jaime. " _Why_ is she allowed to carry it?"

Jaime shrugged. "Good behavior?"

"Yes. We'll leave it at that." Arya smiled up at Jon. Jaime had never seen her so unapologetically happy. "Does Robb know you're coming? I can take you to him."

"In a moment," Jon said. "I'd like to visit Rickon first."

"Do you want company?"

"Yes. I think I do." Jon Snow gave Jaime one last suspicious look before he followed his sister across the courtyard. Jaime gave him a little wave.

It was curious seeing Arya Stark with her family. She had said once that they didn't have much tension between them. That they all got along well enough. Jaime didn't believe it until he saw it, but she wasn't lying. Her brothers adored her. She and her sister seemed closer than ever. Of course, Arya was keeping secrets, but that seemed a normal thing. On the whole, the years of tragedy had only knit the Starks tighter together.

 _So this is what a normally functioning family is like,_ Jaime thought, raising his sword again to continue practicing.

 _Father should take notes._

* * *

The dark of the crypt seemed less oppressive with Jon for company. Arya had not even thought to see him on this trip. He was a man of the knight's watch, after all. This was an unexpected joy. She only wished that Rickon had not died to make it happen.

Jon absently stroked Shaggy Dog's fur as he stood in front of Rickon's grave. He was changed, just like her, from his time away from home. His eyes had seen terrible things. His blade had killed many people. But she did not want to ask about any of that. If she did then he might ask her questions, and she didn't want to lie to Jon.

"How is Ghost?" Arya asked at last.

"Well," Jon said. "He came with me and found Greywind and Summer in the trees. He remembers his siblings even after all this time."

Arya smiled softly. "They remember me too...when I came back. I worried they might not."

Jon sighed and mussed her hair. "Why not? You're still the same girl who left. Just a bit taller."

Arya smirked. "You're the same too. And not taller."

They laughed at that, even though it wasn't true. They were different. They were all different. It was stupid to pretend otherwise, but Arya couldn't help it. Jon was always the one who understood her and let her play the knight without any judgement. He gave her Needle. And with Needle she had killed her first enemy.

She wondered if he knew...if he had guessed...that she was a killer.

"Arya...are you all right? Truly?" Jon asked.

Arya shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"A million possible reasons," Jon said. "You've been a hostage away from home for years. A hostage to the Lannisters no less. When Sansa returned home, she was...well I heard she had plenty of nightmares. You've been down south longer than her."

Arya shook her head. "I imagine Sansa had worse experiences in the south than me. She was betrothed to that monster, after all. Joffrey came after me a few times but...well he's dead now."

"I heard," Jon said. "And you don't have any other tormentors?"

"If I did, would you fight them?" Arya raised an eyebrow. "I can fight for myself, I promise."

"I know. But can you blame me for wondering?" Jon asked. "Whether you can fight doesn't matter. Sometimes people back you into a corner where you can't fight."

"It's not a problem if I avoid corners," Arya said. Jon gave her a look and she smiled softly. "It's all right. I do understand what you mean. And I won't pretend that there haven't been hard moments. I just don't mind them. If our family and the Lannisters stay at peace, I can handle it."

"That's not your job, you know," Jon murmured. "To keep the peace."

Arya looked away. Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of her father's statue flickering in the lantern light. "Someone has to."

Jon settled a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "We don't have to speak of the past if you don't want. If you say you're all right, then I trust you. I'll leave it at that."

Arya nodded once. For a moment, so many stories came to her mind. Her fight with the assassins. The pain of being beaten at Joffrey's orders. Killing Joffrey. But she couldn't tell him any of it. Of all of her family...she wished that Jon would see her as the same. As his little sister.

It was stupid, but sometimes she liked to pretend nothing had changed.

* * *

It was an unexpected joy for Jon to see his little sister again. When he went to the wall, he knew he wouldn't see her often. When he heard she was taken captive by Tywin Lannister, he thought he might never see her again. To see her after all of these years, still smiling with needle at her hip...well, it was a rare bright spot.

Most of Jon's life was not particularly bright. With Mance Rayder marching closer and closer to the wall, and continued sightings of the others, the Night's Watch was dreadfully underequipped. He needed men. He needed a _lot_ of men. More than could be provided by scouring dungeons. That was why he had come to Robb for help.

His brother had a great many cares as Lord of Winterfell. They had aged him, and yet the position suited him. He looked more like their father than ever, and he carried himself proudly. Jon had always envied Robb for how much better he was than him at everything. People, politics, fighting, girls. But he had never hated him for any of it. Robb was very hard to hate.

"The cold seems to have made you grimmer than ever," Robb said when Jon entered the great hall.

"Aye. It's much colder at the wall than here. This feels almost like spring," Jon said with a smile.

Robb smiled in return, embracing him warmly. "I'm glad you could come."

"I'm sorry I did not come sooner. I wish I could have seen Rickon before..."

Robb squeezed his shoulder. "You're a man of the Night's Watch. Your life isn't your own. Rickon would understand."

Jon nodded once. "I wish that I came only to grieve. But it's the Night's Watch that sends me here as well. Mance Rayder is close, with a hundred thousand men. And we do not have the forces to repel him for long."

"You have a rather high wall," Robb reminded him.

"It's not enough. He has giants," Jon said.

"Giants?"

"Aye. I've seen them with my own eyes. And I swear, I am not mad," Jon said. "We need more men."

"You can have your pick of the dungeons," Robb said. "As always."

"I could drain every dungeon in the north and not have enough," Jon said. "There are only a few hundred of us at Castle Black. A few hundred against tens of thousands. We can hold it for a time but not for long."

"What do you suggest then?" Robb asked. "I cannot ask decent, law abiding men to take the Black against their will."

"I don't need them to take the Black," Jon said. "Men can ride north to fight of their own free will without saying any vows. In times like these, the Lord Commander would not deny them."

Robb ran a hand over his face. "That may entice more men. They are tired from war, but no one wants wildlings running across our lands unchecked." He looked up at Jon. "You came at a good time. A few days from now, the northern lords arrive for court. I will let you speak to them then."

Jon let out a breath. "Thank you. Truly."

"Think nothing of it. Starks have guarded the wall for thousands of years," Robb said. "It is our duty."

"Our?" Jon raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a Stark."

"You are," Robb said. "If you weren't part of the Night's Watch...well I would have given you the name Stark by now. Legitimized you. You've more than earned it. But the Stark name will do you little good at the wall."

Jon felt a well of emotion rising up inside of him. How long he had wanted the name Stark. He hated the name Snow for the longest time. But Robb was right. The name didn't matter now. Jon's life was not his own. Snow was as good a name as any.

"Have you seen Arya yet?" Robb continued. "I know she would be happy to see you."

"She found me as soon as I arrived," Jon said. "Strange that Jaime Lannister is here with her."

"Keeping an eye on us, I expect," Robb said. "His father will want a full report on the loyalty of the north."

"I suppose," Jon said. "Does Arya seem well to you?"

Robb hesitated. "Well? Yes. But...different. We can't blame her for that. She's had to survive down south." He paced to the window. "I wish I could have saved her, Jon. When Tywin Lannister forced us to make peace-when he dangled her in front of me-I wished I could have killed him then and taken her back home with us."

"It would have meant more war," Jon said. "And more Stark deaths."

"Father would have hated it...me sacrificing her for peace. He always loved Arya so much." Robb shook his head. "Anything that happens to her now...however she has changed...that is on my shoulders."

"Arya would be angry at you for saying it," Jon said. "You have the north on your shoulders already. And what's done is done. You can't change the past. If Arya has changed...well, she was never going to stay our little sister forever."

"No," Robb murmured. "I wish she could have. I wish we all could have stayed as we were four years ago. It was so much better then."

It was better. Even though Jon had been a bastard and Catelyn Stark had hated him...it was all so much better when their father was alive. When Rickon was alive. When Sansa and Arya were home and safe. When Bran still had his legs.

But the past was gone and none of them had gone unchanged by the war. And Jon had a feeling there was still much more to come.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Mooooore character development. You can see the gears in Robb and Jon's heads turning. "Why is Jaime here? Arya seems weird about it? What could it be? Who's to say."**_

 _ **Next chapter we'll get more interaction with Arya and Sansa, so for those waiting for that, be patient! Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	33. Chapter 33: Something Vulnerable

_**A/N: This chapter only has two scenes (though they are both longer scenes), but I love both of them. I get to write Sansa and Arya interactions! Yaaaaay.**_

 _ **Also, addressing those who think I am being a tease for having Arya hold back on the information: Yes. I am. I am the worst. And for those of you who get annoyed by my cliffhangers, this arc is gonna be WILD for you. Faaaaair warning.**_

 **Chapter 33: Something Vulnerable**

The night before the Northern lords were set to arrive, Arya sat with Sansa in her room. Sansa was busy with the needle work on a dress, and Arya was reading. Occasionally, she glanced up to watch her sister's fingers work. They were always so agile with the needle. The smallest thing Arya could handle was the knife up her sleeve.

Sansa noticed her watching and smiled. "Would you like to try?"

"Please. You know I'd only ruin it," Arya said.

"You're not that bad."

"Don't lie. I'm awful."

Sansa laughed. "Alright, yes. You are awful." She glanced at the book. "But you're miles better at history than I am. And fighting"

"Septa Mordane always said history was a study for boys. And she hated me fighting," Arya said. "Or climbing. Or getting dirty at all."

"She did, didn't she?" Sansa exhaled. "Poor Septa Mordane. It's been some time since I thought of her."

"Was she killed like the others?" Arya asked.

"Yes. Joffrey put her head on the battlements near father's. Then he made me look at them," Sansa murmured.

Arya felt a fresh wave of hatred for Joffrey break through at that moment. "He got what he deserved. He died writhing in pain. I watched it happen, and I wish I could have watched it one hundred times more."

"Once is enough for me," Sansa said. "I will admit...I was so happy when I found out he had died. I never thought I could feel such joy, learning of a person's demise. But he used to set his King's Guard on me all the time. Especially Merryn Trant."

Arya smirked a little. "Merryn Trant is dead too."

"He is?" Sansa asked.

"Yes. I killed him with a fork."

Surprisingly, Sansa laughed. "Did you? A fork?"

"Well... it was the infection that killed him," Arya said. "Joffrey set him on me and I only had a fork on me at the time."

"You always were resourceful," Sansa said. "Good. I'm glad you could kill him for me."

"You're not...disturbed at all?" Arya said slowly.

"Why would I be disturbed?" Sansa asked.

"I don't know. I think Robb is. He doesn't like the idea that I've killed anyone."

Sansa sighed, looking back down at her needle work. "Well...Robb does not know what it's like to be a prisoner in King's Landing. He doesn't know what it's like to be alone there. We do." Sansa shook her head. "And I very nearly pushed Joffrey from a high place once. I wanted to watch him break his head on the stone below. I know what it's like to want to kill. I've just never managed it."

 _I did,_ Arya thought. _I'm the one who killed him._

But she couldn't say it out loud. Not even to Sansa.

"Many people were happy for his death," Arya said at last. "You weren't alone."

"No. The whole north must have celebrated that night behind closed doors," Sansa said. "Especially when Robb returned home safely. I think it helped to...calm things a bit."

"Calm things?" Arya asked.

"Well, not everyone accepted Robb's surrender easily," Sansa said. "They still wanted to fight. Northerners are stubborn folk. And just as many of his banner men thought he was mad for riding south. I think some were already preparing for what would happen if he fell."

 _He very nearly did,_ Arya thought. But she wondered if some of his banner men hadn't wanted that. Had the Boltons plotted in his absence? Had other lords joined them?

"Do you think anyone will make trouble at court tomorrow?" Arya asked.

"It's always possible. But I doubt it. Most of the lords have accepted the peace," Sansa said. "As long as Jaime Lannister stays out of sight, everything should go smoothly."

"I hope he does," Arya said. "It's hard enough to keep Jon and Robb from starting a fight with him."

"Robb isn't foolish enough to do that. He knows better than to anger Lord Tywin for no good reason." Sansa glanced up at Arya. "Unless you think he has a reason?"

Arya pointedly went back to reading her book. "No. No reason."

"Arya?"

"What?"

"Are you sure? Because you've been acting very strangely whenever Jaime is in the same room with us. You keep watching him like you're afraid he'll say something wrong."

Arya looked up at her sister, annoyed. "When did you get so observant?"

"I learned to watch people in King's Landing, same as you," Sansa reminded her.

Arya sighed. That's right, she had. Sansa had learned to survive as well, and she didn't have the benefit of a knife or a sword. Nor did she have Tywin Lannister's favor. "You...can't tell anyone. I don't want to cause trouble while I'm home."

"I won't," Sansa promised.

"Lord Tywin...he's been looking to marry me off to someone for some time. It's not surprising. I am a Stark. For a time, he considered engaging me to Tommen, but after Tommen became king, it was more important for him to marry Margaery." Arya shrugged. "He betrothed me to Jaime instead."

Sansa barely looked surprised. She wondered how long her sister had suspected. "A Lannister and Stark union. It is a smart political move. But I though Ser Jaime could not marry. He's a member of the King's guard."

"Tommen relieved him of his duties. Tywin sort of...forced him. Jaime doesn't want this match any more than I do," Arya shrugged. "Which is why I don't want to bring it up. It's not really Jaime's fault we're engaged. He doesn't need a broken nose for it."

"You're right. Robb and Jon will see it as an older man preying on their younger sister," Sansa said.

"I'm not anyone's _prey_ ," Arya muttered. "I'm Tywin Lannister's pawn, yes. But I'm not prey."

"No. You've always been more a wolf than most of us," Sansa said. "And what do you think of Ser Jaime?"

"What...what do I think?" Arya's brow furrowed.

"Yes. Is he ever cruel to you?" she asked.

"Oh, no. Not at all, actually. I expected him to be much more awful when we met. You know how father always talked about him." Arya shrugged. "He's...surprisingly kind though. He saved me once. That time Joffrey set Merryn Trant and another guard on me? Well, the fork didn't finish Trant off immediately, and they beat me half to death. But Jaime intervened. I don't suppose he would have if there wasn't some good in him."

"Some good is just enough in this world," Sansa said. "Most men don't have much good in them." She added another stitch to her needle work. "You two do seem to get on well enough."

"Yes. But even if we were the best of friends, I would not want to be married."

Sansa smiled sadly. "I know, Arya. You always loathed the idea. But this is an outstandingly ideal match."

Arya gave her a look. She expected Sansa to be more horrified by the whole thing, but she wasn't. She almost seemed...glad? "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," Sansa said. "Tywin Lannister is old. Past his sixtieth year. He has some time left, but he will be dead long before you are. Once he dies, you would inherit Casterly Rock. You would _control_ the Lannister family."

"Jaime inherits," Arya said. "I'm just the wife."

"Only if you let yourself be," Sansa said. "If you play the game right, you can have as much control over the Rock as Jaime. You will control the heirs. You will control the family name." She reached out, resting a hand over Arya's. "That means a lasting peace between the Starks and Lannisters long after Tywin is gone."

Arya hadn't quite considered any of that. She was so anxious about the future that she preferred not to think of it. But Sansa was right. The power she would wield as a Lannister was extraordinary and very advantageous for her family. She could make sure that peace stayed for the next century. Jaime was not a political person and had no interest in being heir. He would not fight her if she took on some of those political duties. The future of her longtime enemies would truly be in her hands.

"It doesn't make sense," Arya murmured. "Why would Lord Tywin give me such power?"

"Apparently he trusts you with it," Sansa said.

Arya didn't respond. Yes, she had Tywin's favor, but his legacy was more important to him than anything else-even his own children. To put that legacy in her hands was quite an outstanding amount of trust. Especially after their...disagreement.

"It's a different sort of power than you've ever wanted," Sansa said. "You wanted people to fear you in battle. You didn't want to be a wife or a mother. The world has a way of forcing us into that box...but we can learn how to use it."

"Will you use it too?" Arya asked.

Sansa nodded once. "The question of who I will marry has been up in the air for some time. At first, mother was in communication with Aunt Lysa. A marriage to her son would have been advantageous. Robyn is six years younger than me and a sickly boy, so that might have left me with control of the Vale. Not romantic but...ideal." Sansa sighed. "Of course ever since Lord Baelish was executed, Aunt Lysa has been absolutely mad. So that was no longer a possibility. But then we got another letter extending an offer of sorts."

"From who?" Arya asked.

"I suspect you have met her. Lady Olenna Tyrell," Sansa said. "She's been looking for a proper match for her eldest son Willas for some time. She said...oh, what were her words?" Sansa tapped her needle against her project. " _I think you may have learned something of strength in your time at King's Landing. And our words are 'Growing Strong'. It seems a good match."_

"That sounds like her," Arya murmured. She wondered if Lord Tywin was aware of this. It would mean that the Reach had just as strong connections to the Starks as the crown. But honestly, it relieved Arya. It would make it all the more difficult for the Starks and Lannisters to go to war.

"I think she was plotting to marry me to one of her sons before I even left King's Landing," Sansa said. "But in our correspondence over the last several months she has been testing me. I think to make sure I'm not the foolish little girl I used to be."

"Apparently you past her tests then," Arya said. "And...Willas? What is he supposed to be like?"

"Willas was crippled many years ago. And he's some fifteen years older than me," Sansa said. "He's not what I used to dream about. But I do hear he's kind. These days I would take a kind husband before a gallant or handsome one. And, of course, he is heir to Highgarden."

"Meaning that, some day, you will be partially in control of the Reach," Arya said.

"Yes," Sansa said. "That will give me a great deal of power and it will give the north another strong ally with abundant resources. Enough to carry the Starks through any harsher winters."

"It's funny, hearing you talk like this," Arya said. "You used to talk only of marrying for love."

"Almost no one marries for love," Sansa said. "Robb is a rare exception, and that match was a strategic mistake. Most of us marry to help our families. There's nothing really wrong with that."

"No," Arya said. "I just wish the world didn't force us to do it."

"So do I," Sansa murmured. "Maybe with powerful names we can begin to shape the world so that our daughters don't feel so trapped."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Reshaping the world. I think I would enjoy that."

* * *

Arya could not sleep that night. Her mind felt...unsettled. It was a feeling she had grown accustomed to over the past few years. Her life was never peaceful. But in Winterfell, she had hoped to find some sort of rest.

But not tonight. She was not sure if it was the impending arrival of the northern lords or the foreboding words of Tywin's letter to Robb. But she could not settle her spirit enough to sleep. So instead she abandoned her bed and went outside into the cold. It had been growing warmer in the north now that winter seemed to be on its way out. But without the sun, the wind was infinitely less forgiving. Arya didn't mind its bite. Beneath enough layers, it wasn't bad at all. She walked with a lantern in hand, using the flame for some warmth.

She was surprised to find someone else outside. Jaime Lannister stood in the center of the courtyard, cutting through the icy wind with his blade. His breath left him in puffy white clouds.

She thought for a moment about leaving him to work. Of backing into the shadows and disappearing again. But before she could decide, Jaime turned swiftly around. His blade seemed to freeze perfectly in midair. And only after he stilled did he notice her beyond the tip of his blade.

"Your form is improving," Arya said.

Jaime's mouth twitched. "Nice of you to say so." He lowered his blade. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"

"I could ask the same of you," Arya murmured.

"Oh...I suppose it's the idea of all the northern lords coming tomorrow. Most of them don't like me." Jaime thought for a moment. "No...All of them don't like me."

"They have good reason for that," Arya said.

"True. None the less, I hope they don't discover I am here," Jaime studied her. "And you, my lady? I don't suppose the Northern Lords are making you nervous as well."

"Actually...yes. They are," Arya murmured.

"They're your people," Jaime said. "You have no reason to fear them."

Arya shrugged, rubbing her gloved hands together. "Do you think all of the northern lords welcomed peace with the Lannisters?"

"I doubt it," Jaime said. "They were winning battle after battle against my father. And they wanted justice for their lord. Vengeance. Most of them must have been upset when your brother surrendered."

"That's my thinking," Arya said. "And why was your father able to force peace?"

Jaime seemed to understand then. "Ah. You think the northerners might blame you."

She nodded once. "I blame myself sometimes."

"What could you have done against my father, Arya?" Jaime asked. "You were twelve when he first took you hostage. Full grown men cower before him. Which one of those men could have expected you to fight him?"

"None," Arya said. "That's why I wish I could have. To prove them all wrong."

Jaime's mouth twitched. "Of course." He nodded at the sword at her hip. "Perhaps you'd like to draw your sword now. I think a fight might help your nerves."

Arya fought a smile and rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. "We've never sparred with these swords before."

"Well, they are twins. It seems right," Jaime said. "I won't cut you."

"I would never let you." Arya drew her blade. The metal reflected the light of the full moon. "I'm far better with my left hand."

"Getting overconfident, are we?" Jaime asked.

"No. Just confident enough," Arya said.

Jaime flicked his blade toward hers and she deflected. He tried again, twice in quick succession. She blocked with fluid ease. Months of sparring with him-years now-had made her an expert in his movements. She had watched him rebuild his move set on his left hand from the ground up. But he knew her just as well.

He began attacking in earnest, lunging and cutting at her sides. She retreated back several steps, blocking his every strike, before ducking under the last and stabbing out at him. She forced him to step back as she went on the attack. Backing him up step by step toward the wall of the stables.

But when she was only seconds from cornering him, he swiped his right hand upward, catching her blade hard with the crook of his golden hand.

Arya lost her grip and her sword and it spun through the air, landing several feet behind her. With a sharp tap from his elbow, she lost her balance and fell onto her back below him. He leveled his sword with her neck.

"My right hand isn't completely useless, my lady," he said with a smirk.

"Neither are my feet," Arya replied flatly.

Jaime's brow furrowed. "What?"

Arya rolled out from beneath his blade and swung both her legs hard, knocking into his left ankle. He lost his footing and collapsed on the ground beside her. His blade spun from his hand and skidded off into the dark.

"Seven hells." Jaime muttered, looking up at her. Then he started to laugh. And Arya couldn't help but laugh too. What a strange night that a Stark daughter and a Lannister son should be fighting in the courtyard of Winterfell. It had been a long time since Arya had laughed so hard, but she couldn't stop. This whole situation was too bizarre. Her life was too bizarre.

At last, their laughed died and Jaime slowly sat up again. His breath clouded the air around him. "You know...You may not prove everyone in the world wrong, Arya. But you proved me wrong about a lot of things. If that is any consolation."

Arya stayed on her back, staring up at the moon. It was so bright tonight-a pale lantern in the dark of winter. She watched her breath fog around its image like a cloud. "A small consolation perhaps." She glanced at him. "But then... I suppose you've proved me wrong about a lot of things too, Jaime."

Jaime smiled. It was a soft, sad expression. One she never expected to see on his face. There was something vulnerable in that silence. She could not explain why, but it scared her.

She sat up quickly, drawing in a deep breath. She let the cold in her lungs bring her back to reality. "We should get inside. We don't want to tempt the winter."

Jaime exhaled. "Of course."

Arya got quickly to her feet and paced over to where her weapon had fallen. She found it sitting right next to his on the ground, the blades crossed on the stone. For a moment she just stared at the twin swords before she found her own and returned it to his sheath. She looked back at Jaime.

"Goodnight, ser."

Jaime gave her a small nod. "Goodnight, my lady."

Then she left him in the cold.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Arya has now told a single person about the match! When will the others find out. Who knoooows. (P.S.: I promise it'll be a great scene when it happens).**_

 ** _To those who asked about Jon's changed arc: everything is the same, except for Lord Commander Mormont escaped the mutiny at Craster's Keep and therefore is still alive. I mostly changed it because Jon couldn't be lord commander yet (cause he has to prove himself at the battle for the wall). And I couldn't have Allister be acting lord commander for several years. So yeah. That's the reason._**

 ** _Until next time, review, subscribe etc! See you Thanksgiving!_**


	34. Chapter 34: The Northern Lords

_**A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Chapter coming to you a bit early because I'm about to head out for family festivities lol. But I would never take a break from updating, of course.**_

 _ **In today's chapter, the northern lords arrive which means tensions abound. Should be fun. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 34: The Northern Lords**

Early the next morning, Winterfell was buzzing with activity, preparing for the arrival of the Northern lords. One could hardly walk in the courtyard without almost colliding with a rushing servant or guard. Arya's mother was as busy as any of them, giving instructions left and right. She looked well. Better than she had when Arya had arrived. She imagined this event was helping to distract her from Rickon's death.

"Is Ser Jaime hidden," Catelyn asked her as the guards reported the first of the lords coming over the horizon.

"Yes," Arya said. "He won't come out of his room until the lords are gone. He's not eager for a fight. I convinced my other escorts to remove any obvious Lannister symbols or colors."

"Good," Catelyn said. "If we can get through these few days without some sort of fight, it will be a miracle."

"Jaime doesn't want to meet the northern lords again any more than they want to meet him," Arya said.

"True enough," her mother sighed and looked her over. "You've picked a good dress."

"Sansa picked it," Arya said, brushing her hand over the fabric. It was blue with grey flowers embroidered down the front. "I asked what would help me blend in."

"She made a good choice. They'll hardly recognize you," Catelyn said. "Though...if you're hoping to blend in, I suggest you store your swords in your room."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "They're mine. I don't need to hide them."

"I know they're yours. I'm not trying to take them from you." Catelyn rested her hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. "I know Robb wants you to watch the Boltons today. And the other lords as well."

"Do you not approve?" Arya asked, a bitter note creeping into her voice. She expected her mother to say it was dangerous. She was always a bit over protective, but especially of her daughters.

"It's not that," Catelyn said. "But it's not ordinary for young ladies to carry swords. You don't want to give them any more reason to talk about you than they already have."

Arya bit at the inside of her cheek. "You think they'll talk about me?"

It was a stupid question. Of course they would. She had known it from the start. The ward of House Lannister, back to visit family.

"Yes," Catelyn said. "You may hear them say awful things about you. They said awful things about Sansa when she first returned. She wasn't there for near as long as you, and she wasn't used to broker peace. But still, they resented her for her time down south. Some said she was a spy. Some said she was...tainted by Joffrey. They whispered it under their breath, but still, we heard it."

Arya's jaw clenched. " _Who_ said that? I'll make them regret it."

"That's exactly what you can't do," Catelyn said. "When you hear them whisper-when you hear them say their words-you don't want the temptation of your weapons. We want to get through these days without a fight, remember?"

Slowly, Arya nodded. Her mother smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "Whatever you hear them say...know that we don't believe it. We know you. They don't."

Arya swallowed hard. With all of the secrets she was keeping, she wondered how much her family knew her anymore.

Her mother left her then, and moments later, they began to arrive: the many lords of the North. They came on horseback from the west, the east, the north and the south. They came in large numbers and small. After Arya safely stowed her swords in her room, she took her place atop the battlements and watched them. She noted the banners as they passed beneath the gates. Reeds. Karstarks. Umbers. Mormonts. Glovers. Dustins. Hornwoods.

Some twenty houses owed their loyalty to House Stark, and they all made an appearance today. The Reeds arrived first. And last? The Boltons of the Dreadfort.

Arya felt her whole body tense as the banner of the flayed man came into view. This was the house Tywin Lannister named as untrustworthy. He would not have sent that letter unless he had real reason to suspect them. Arya simply had to catch them at something suspicious to give Robb a reason to confront them.

One of the Bolton men looked up at her as they passed through the gates. Raised a hand and gave her a little wave. There was a smile on his face that sent a shiver through Arya.

 _You've been noticed,_ it seemed to say. _You will not be a shadow today._

* * *

Arya took her place in the corner of the great hall, behind the table, so that she could look out upon all of the attendants. In such a crowd, it would be impossible to watch everyone, but at least she knew who to be most wary of. The Boltons.

Roose Bolton had arrived with ten companions, only one of whom had accompanied him inside the great hall today. He was the youngest of Lord Bolton's men, perhaps a little older than Robb. And _he_ was the one who had noticed her on the wall and given her that knowing smile.

He was still smiling, though not at her. He listened with rapt attention to her brother as he stood and gave his greeting to the lords.

"My thanks to all of you for coming today," Robb said. "This is a time of many emotions for my family. On one hand, it seems the winter is on its way out, though we no doubt will have many more months of snow. On the other, many of us have lost loved ones to Long Summer's Bane. My sympathies to all those who have buried children. Siblings. Parents. The dead will never be forgotten."

"Here, here," someone called from amongst the crowd, and the north men called out in agreement.

Robb then opened the floor to allow the lords to bring forth concerns. Most of the concerns were quite routine. Struggles in the winter. Reports of wildling raids. Proposals for the coming spring. Robb listened to them all and gave wise council. He sat at the table like he was born to it, and if he was concerned about the state of the north, he did not show that worry on his face. Their father would have been so proud of him.

But Robb was not the concern. It was the other north men Arya had to worry about it. From a distance, most of the attendants appeared in favor of Robb, but if one looked close enough they could see the cracks. A son of Umber looking on coldly. A Karstark whispering something under his breath to his neighbor. But the two Boltons in the hall gave no sign of discontent at all.

It piqued Arya's suspicions. Tyrion used to tell her that there were three types of Cyvasse players. Those who went on the attack, those who kept a strong defense, and the best players, who could play both at once. The most dangerous players could keep you guessing at their strategy.

The Boltons were leaving Arya guessing. And she did not like it.

Two hours later, Robb motioned for Jon to step forward. Their brother came to the center of the floor and turned to face the lords.

"My Lords. This is a trying time for us all. Winters always are. And I know many of you have lost a great deal in the summer's wars. I do not wish to ask more fighting of you. But I have no choice. Mance Rayder marches on the wall, an army of wildlings in toe. I have seen the armies. It is a greater army than has marched on our lands in one thousand years."

"If I recall, even the armies of one thousand years ago were repelled by the Night's Watch," one of the Umbers called out. "Why should this be any different?"

"Because one thousand years ago, over one thousand men held Castle Black alone," Jon said. "And all of the castles along the wall were manned. Now, there are barely one hundred of us."

Murmurs rose up among the hall. One hundred was not many at all, even at a castle as well defended as Castle Black.

"I do not ask any of you to take the black," Jon said. "Because these are desperate times. But I do ask for you all to defend your homeland. I have heard concerns about wildlings several times today. Some of you have reported raids on local villages, resources stolen, people under your charge murdered. But that is only a small taste of what is to come. The North would be in chaos if an army of that size was allowed to cross the wall. So please. The Night's Watch needs you. And the North needs you."

Silence rang throughout the hall, filled only by the shifting of the lords. Many of them were upset with the end to the war with the south, but a war with the far north seemed to set them on edge. Arya's jaw clenched as she waited for _someone_ to speak.

"I say Jon Snow is right," a voice said at last. Arya turned in surprise to see the younger Bolton man stepping forward. "Look at all of you. Shuffling around nervously. Northmen are known for killing wildlings, aren't we? Or have you all forgotten?"

"Mind your tongue, Snow," Lord Glover said. "You have no authority over us."

Arya's eyes widened. So this man was a bastard like Jon. Was he Roose Bolton's bastard? It was curious that the Lord of the Dreadfort would bring his bastard to court.

"It's Bolton now, actually," the man said, his smile sharpening ever so slightly. "I've been graciously legitimized by the king with my father's blessing. And perhaps I do not have any authority here...But I know a threat when I see one." He stepped up beside Jon, clapping him on the shoulder. "And as our friend here said...the Night's Watch will not force anyone to take the Black. So if it's going celibate you're worried about, you can put those fears to rest."

"We heard what he said and we can make our own decision," Lord Glover said. "Lord Bolton. You ought to control your bastard."

"I'm afraid Ramsay is right," Roose said. "The wall has stood for thousands of years. If it is breached, it will never be properly feared again. And then the north will be vulnerable from both sides. North and South." He looked around. "All of the northern houses should contribute men."

 _Something is wrong about this,_ Arya thought. _They're too much in support of Jon. Of our family. If they are traitors then there must be another motive here. Or could they truly be concerned about the wall?_

It was possible. Maybe they were willing to set aside any treachery until after the major threat was dealt with. A common enemy often helped warring houses to put their concerns to rest and a wildling army was no small thing. But still...

"I agree with Lord Bolton," Robb said. "This is a matter of the safety of the north. I won't force anyone to contribute forces. But think of your families."

There was a brief silence. Then Lord Umber stepped forward. "We will give men to the cause."

"So will we," Lord Dustin said. "As many as we can spare."

"Aye," Lord Glover said reluctantly. "We'll give men."

One after another, the houses pledged to send men within the fortnight. Bolton's bastard looked pleased by the development, patting Jon on the shoulder. "I'll join you north as well. I think I'd like to kill some wildlings."

"We would welcome the help," Jon said. "I'm sorry, your name is..."

"Ramsay Bolton." Ramsay held out a hand. "I was a Snow as well until very recently. It's good to meet a fellow northern bastard."

Arya's gaze sliced from Ramsay to Roose. There was nothing out of the ordinary about their faces. They simply seemed satisfied with the widespread support of this venture. She could not identify any ulterior motives.

Not when they kept their game so close to their chest.

* * *

When court had come to a close, preparations began for that night's feast. The northern lords lingered about the Winterfell courtyard, and Arya took the time to weave between them, listening into their conversations. Most of them stayed on safe topics: the events of the courts, the threat of the wildlings. But some spoke of Robb's inexperience. Some spoke of the unwanted peace with the Lannisters. The Karstarks seemed most dissatisfied with the situation. She did not confront them though. It would be unwise to make herself known.

Once, she passed behind two of the Umber men and heard them mention her name.

"Arya Stark. Did you notice her standing in the corner?" one of the men said.

"Was that Arya Stark?" the other replied. "I barely recognized her. What do you suppose she was doing back here?"

"Who's to say? Perhaps Lord Tywin let her go?"

"Oh, I doubt that. But maybe he sent her to spy."

"Spy? On her own family?"

"It wouldn't be so strange. Four years in King's Landing? She's probably more lion than wolf now."

Arya felt a wave of fury roll through her. Instinctively, she started to reach for her knife-the one weapon she had kept on her. But she stopped. No. No fights. It didn't matter what they said about her. She had to stay in control.

It was just like her time in the south. Sometimes there were important people on her list, like Joffrey and Cersei, who she could not harm. She had to wait for her moment. If any of these families proved traitor, she could fight them then.

Still it weighed on her. At the feast, she felt too watched. Everyone was beginning to take notice of Ned Stark's second daughter, back from the south. The girl that forced Robb Stark to surrender to Tywin Lannister. She felt the distrust in their glances and as she watched them talk in low voices, she wondered if they were speaking of her.

Sansa gently squeezed her arm. "It's all right..." she murmured. "Just remember that whatever they're saying is wrong."

"Not all of it is wrong," Arya replied. "Lord Tywin did use me to force peace."

"That was his fault. Not yours," Sansa said.

Arya nodded once. "Mother said they talked about you as well."

"Yes," Sansa said. "But it died down eventually. It will for you too."

 _Not when they find out I'm marrying Jaime Lannister,_ Arya thought. _Then they will hate me forever. They won't be my people anymore. I'll just be a lion to them._

She swallowed hard and went back to picking at her food. Her mother was right to suggest leaving her swords in her room. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to fight something.

* * *

Feasts made men drunk and unruly, and wine was a poor companion with tension. It always made a person more likely to say dangerous things. So, though Arya wanted to retreat to her room after the feast, she forced herself to remain and wander the grounds, listening to the conversations. Listening to any treasonous words about Robb.

Many of the Umbers were vocal about their distaste for Lannisters and their hatred of having to lick their golden boots.

"We had a King in the North for a year," one said. "Then he knelt faster than Torrhen Stark."

"At least Torrhen knelt before dragons," another replied. "Our king knelt for a fucking girl."

Arya did not confront them. She did not draw her knife. She only hid those words away in her mind so that she could speak them to Robb later.

These men would never have spoken about her father in such a way. They respected him for his victories in Robert's Rebellion. They had gone to war for him when Joffrey took him prisoner and executed him. How many would have ridden for Robb if he died down south.

 _Perhaps they would only want him as an excuse to return to war,_ Arya thought.

She wandered inside to earn a break from the cold. Sometimes people preferred to discuss treason in quiet corners, so she might have some luck wandering the halls. She hoped to find some Bolton men.

Instead she found Karstarks-standing dangerously close to Jaime's quarters.

"I'm not going to ask again," one of them growled at Arya's escorts who stood guard outside. "Which house do you serve?"

 _Say the Starks,_ Arya thought. _Please just lie and say 'the Starks'._

The guards didn't. They were silent, and it was making the Karstarks angry. Arya heard the faint scrape of a blade being pulled from its sheath. She cursed and strode forward, slipping between the cracks of the four Karstark men and standing between them and the guards.

"They serve me," she said flatly. "Back away."

The man at the lead blinked in surprise. He was drunk and it seemed to take him a moment to bring her into focus. "Lady Arya," he muttered. "Didn't know you had northmen to serve you."

"Well, I do," Arya said. "Find someone else to harass. We don't need fighting in Winterfell."

The man shook his head and pointed at her. "No...no you couldn't have northmen to serve you. Wouldn't make sense. You've been down _south_ for too long." He glanced at the guards standing behind her. "These are _Lannister men_ aren't they?"

"They're my escorts," Arya said. "Did you expect that I road here alone? You're drunker than I thought."

"Lion bitch," one of the men in the back muttered.

Arya's glare sliced to him. "Would you like to repeat those words? I don't think I heard them correctly."

"You did," the man replied. He was drunken enough that he couldn't quite stand straight. Easy enough to beat in a fight if she went for his legs. Gods, how she longed for her sword.

"Doesn't matter," the lead Karstark said. "If they're your escorts, I want to know why they're guarding this door...and not you."

Arya's jaw clenched. She imagined Jaime standing just inside the door, listening to every word of this. They could not see him. They would try to kill him if they did and then she would have to fight them off. If she killed a Karstark for a Lannister, there would be an uproar. And if they killed Jaime, the north would be at war again.

"Turn around," she said at last. "This hall is off limits to you. Go find a corner where you can pass out."

"Move aside," he said.

"You don't give orders to me."

"Move _aside._ " The Karstark began to draw his sword. It was only halfway out of its sheath when Arya drew her knife and pressed it against his throat.

"Were you starting to draw a sword on me?" Arya asked. "I know I must be mistaken. Because I'm a Stark of Winterfell. I'm the sister of your lord. To draw a blade on me in my own home? That would be a death sentence." Her voice was icy. "It's a good thing that you would never do that. You're just a bit drunk. I understand. So I think...you should all turn around and leave before I fetch my brother."

"That's an excellent idea."

Arya shivered at the voice that came from behind her. Roose Bolton. Gods, she had not heard him approach.

"I'm sure the Karstarks would like to apologize," Roose said. "It's not their place to make demands of you here."

The lead Karstark glared at him but bowed his head. "Yes, my lady. It was a mistake. We're just drunk."

"Good. Go make yourself useful elsewhere," Lord Bolton said flatly.

When the Karstark men had cleared away, Arya slowly turned to face Roose Bolton. Every warning bell in her head was ringing. "Thank you, my lord. But I had it handled."

"So I could see," Lord Bolton said. "But it wouldn't do for you to fight one of your brother's banner men, would it?"

"I was trying to _keep_ them from a fight. Nothing more." Arya's grip tightened on her blade. "It was... kind of you to speak up in favor of my half-brother today."

"I wouldn't call it kind. Simply necessary," Lord Bolton said. "It's vital that northmen defend the wall. You father would have wanted the same." He looked down at her. "What brings you home, Lady Arya?"

"My younger brother died. I wanted to pay my respects," Arya said.

"And Lord Tywin...let you leave?"

 _This is some kind of test,_ Arya thought. _He's trying to get information out of me. But why? What is his play?_

"Lord Tywin knows I will return," Arya said. "He knows I won't jeopardize the peace between the Lannisters and Starks."

"He knows you well then? Well enough to trust you with this journey." He glanced down at the knife in her hand. "And well enough to trust you with weapons."

"What does it matter to you how well Tywin Lannister knows me?" Arya asked.

"It doesn't," Roose Bolton replied. "I was only curious." He gave her a bow. "Excuse me."

He left her then, standing at the edge of the courtyard. Only after he walked away did Arya let out a breath. Her hands were shaking.

The Boltons had not done anything suspicious since coming here. Not yet.

So why was it every time one of them spoke she felt as if she was in danger?

* * *

 _ **A/N: Ah, tension. And Boltons! It's great to see Ramsay isn't it? He seems like a swell guy. Very agreeable. Can't see him ever causing any problems ever.**_

 _ **Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and, if you celebrate Thanksgiving, enjoy the food and family today :) May your family dinner be less tense than this one and see you next time!**_


	35. Chapter 35: Doubt

_**A/N: And we're back! Thanks for all of the reviews. Reactions were funny last time. Ramsay looked at Arya for 2.5 seconds and some of you were getting ready to fight lol. I understand. I have this same reaction. In other news, I'm back on my cliffhanger bullshit so...prepare for the suffering.**_

 **Chapter 35: Doubt**

For the rest of that night and all the next day, Arya waited for the Boltons to do something suspicious. But they never faltered. Roose Bolton remained utterly composed and Ramsay Bolton continued to be consistently cheerful. He bounced around between the other northern lords, making conversation. They all seemed rather annoyed with him, but not threatened.

Arya was threatened though. Because as she watched the bastard of Bolton he kept looking straight back at her. Whenever he caught her looking, his smile only widened. It was like a taunt.

 _I know you're watching me, but I don't care. I have nothing to hide._

By the time the northern lords prepared to leave the next morning, Arya had found out absolutely nothing of use. And all she could really present to Robb was that they seemed "too content".

"I can't use 'too content' against them, Arya," Robb said. "I can't use obedience and loyalty as weapons. Maybe they have plots but...for now it seems they are putting them aside for the battle with the wildlings."

"Do you really believe that?" Arya asked.

"There's nothing like a common enemy to unite warring houses," Robb said. "This could give us the time we need to truly investigate the Boltons. See if there is any substance to this warning."

"What if you're wrong?" Arya asked. "What if they haven't set their plans aside?"

"I still can't move against them with nothing," Robb said. "Perhaps if Lord Tywin was _specific_ about their past treachery, I would have some grounds on which to act. But he didn't, so I don't."

"You do," Arya said stubbornly. "You're the warden of the north. You have complete authority over the north and the other lords according to the crown."

"The Targaryens had complete authority over the seven kingdoms. It didn't end up well for them, did it?" Robb asked. "Imagine I did move against the Boltons with nothing but a vague word from Tywin Lannister as evidence? What do you think would happen, Arya? How would the other houses in the north react?"

Arya pressed her lips together in a tight line. They wouldn't react well. She knew that. But striking first was better than leaving a venomous snake in the grass.

"I can tell you what would happen," Robb said. "They would start to doubt. They'd wonder, who will Robb Stark accuse next? If I step out of line, will I find myself as his enemy? They might not say it but they'll hold it in their hearts. They might even use it as cause to rebel. The Karstarks would see this as another betrayal of an old ally for no apparent reason. The Umbers would say I'm more willing to strike at my allies than my enemies. The Glovers would remind me that my father would never do such a thing."

"Father is _dead_ ," Arya said. "He's dead because he didn't strike first. He's dead because he expected his enemies to be honorable and they _killed_ him. Father would never do such a thing? Of course he wouldn't. That's why you need to learn from him."

"It's not that simple," Robb said. "The northern lords want a leader like father. They respected him. I can't step out of his shadow."

"Which leaves you vulnerable. What happens if you wait for the Boltons to strike, Robb?" She took a step forward. "They won't do it gently. They won't make a soft first move. They'll take hostages. Maybe they'll kill someone you care about. It could be anyone. Mother, Sansa, Bran, Talisa. One of the children. They wouldn't be beyond that. And yes, that will give you plenty of cause to act against them. But that won't raise the dead and it won't fix things. You road south to war when they took father prisoner but that didn't save him. It didn't keep him from losing his head."

Robb's jaw clenched. "We did what we could for him."

"Yes. You did. And none of it mattered," Arya said. "It would have. If he had been smarter-if he hadn't been so caught on his own honor-it would have."

"Father would rather die honorable than live with lies and treachery," Robb said.

"I don't _care_ ," Arya snapped. "I don't care what he wanted. I had to watch him _die_."

For a moment, Robb was silent. She wondered if he had ever realized that before. The fact that she had been there on that day. An eleven year old girl, alone in the world, watching her father forced to his knees before a mob and an evil king.

"I was standing in the crowd, listening to them scream names at him," Arya muttered. "Watching them throw rocks at his head. I was crouched on the Sept of Baelor. I had a _perfect_ view of him. He proclaimed Joffrey the one true king because he hoped to protect Sansa. It was a lie given way too late. Joffrey wanted blood. Joffrey heard the crowd crying out for it and he wanted to give them a show. So he told Ser Illyn Payne to bring him Father's head. I'll never forget that day. Not for as long as I live. I'll never forget Sansa screaming for mercy. I'll never forget the crowd screaming for blood. I will never forget Joffrey's face. I jumped into the crowd and tried to reach him. It was like something out of a nightmare-a dream where you're trying to move but you just can't go fast enough."

Robb's expression was pained. "Arya..."

"I didn't see the actual moment," Arya continued on. She couldn't stop. This was the first time...she was really saying it all out loud. The first time she had described that awful day to anyone. "But it didn't matter. I heard the sword fall. I heard the...the sound it made. I never felt so helpless in my entire life. I couldn't move because there was a man holding me back. I couldn't speak. I could barely even breathe. All I could think was 'I should have stopped it. Why didn't I stop it'?"

"You couldn't have," Robb murmured. "You could have stopped any of it."

"You're right," Arya said. "But I can stop the rest of our family from joining father and Rickon in the crypt. I'm not going to let you follow him. Or mother, or Sansa, or Bran. And if that means breaking the code of honor, then I'll do it. You have to be willing to do the same."

Robb shook his head. "Arya. It's not that easy. The north is in a precarious position now. I _have_ to handle this carefully. And we don't live by southern rules here."

"Don't you?" Arya asked. "You bent the knee to a southern king."

Robb's expression hardened. "To protect you."

"Do you wish you hadn't?" Arya asked.

Robb stared at her. "What...do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Do you wish you hadn't?" Arya asked. "It's caused all sorts of problems for you. I heard the northern lords gossiping about me. You're weaker to them because you bent the knee for the life of a twelve year old girl." She lifted her chin. "So have you thought about the alternative? Have you thought about what would have happened if you let Lord Tywin slit my throat? I bet you have. I bet you wonder if you could have won. Maybe you could have. You could have been the first King in the North since Torrhen Stark. If you had just let me..."

She trailed off. It was a terrible question to ask of her brother. But she asked it of herself sometimes. What if Robb had ignored Tywin's demands and put the country before her? If he let her die for the good of the North, would things have been different for House Stark? Would the North be stable and independent, if not for her?

Robb opened his mouth to reply, but Arya was too afraid to hear the words. She turned away from him.

"Never mind. I've given you my opinion. What you do with it is up to you."

Then she left before he could say anything more.

Arya tried not to think of their argument for the rest of the day. She distracted herself by watching some of the northmen leave from the battlements. She could not name any of them traitor either. An insult was not enough to warrant imprisonment. Neither was association with the Boltons. Many of the houses had spoken with Roose Bolton. The Glovers, the Umbers, the Karstarks, the Reeds. None of them stood out to her as close with the Lord of the Dreadfort. But Lord Bolton surely had allies if he had plans to move against her brother. Perhaps Robb was right. Perhaps the Boltons were willing to put aside their plots to face the wildlings. But her instincts told her...

The hairs on the back of Arya's neck rose as she sensed someone behind her. She spun around, snapping her grip around an extended wrist. She found herself looking at Ramsay Bolton.

His eyebrows shot up. "You have quick reflexes, Lady Arya."

Arya released him at once, stepping back a few feet. "You startled me...Lord Ramsay," she muttered. "What are you doing up here?"

"Oh, I just came to meet the second daughter of House Stark," Ramsay said. "I've heard many interesting tales about you. Mostly from the northmen, you understand. Some think you're a spy, some think you're a brainwashed ward of Tywin Lannister, some think you're a wild wolf in a girl's body." He tilted his head to the side. "I thought I should see for myself."

"Did you?" Arya asked coolly. "I hate to disappoint, but I am Arya Stark. That's all."

"Is it?" Ramsay asked. "I suppose you are too small to be a Direwolf. Maybe you're just a little one."

Arya gritted her teeth together. She did not like his scrutiny one bit. It made her feel exposed. "Why did you speak up in favor of my brother's proposal?"

"Your bastard brother? Well, I suppose it's because I'd like a chance to hunt some wildlings," Ramsay said. "And protect the north, of course. But most north men don't consider the wildlings human, so I doubt they'll have any...problems with my methods."

"Do your methods have anything to do with the sigil on your banner?" Arya asked.

"Flaying is outlawed in the north," Ramsay said with a smile.

"I know. That doesn't answer my question."

Ramsay laughed. Arya did not like the sound. It was wrong. Everything about him seemed wrong. "I don't think you have to worry. You're not going to the wall. You're going south soon, aren't you?"

"Soon, yes."

"That's too bad," Ramsay said. "You know, I might die at the wall, defending the north. So if this is our last meeting..." He gave a little bow. "I wish you luck in the wars to come."

"What wars?" Arya asked suspiciously.

"There are always more wars, Lady Arya." Ramsay flashed her a grin. "But I'm rather good at surviving them." That sounded distinctly like a threat, but before Arya could question him further he turned and left. "Farewell. Until next time."

That sounded like a threat as well, but Arya could do nothing but watch him leave. She watched from the battlements until the Boltons saddled their horses and left the keep. And long after they departed, she could still see Ramsay Bolton's smile in her mind's eye.

At least the northern lords gone, she could breathe a bit easier. She did not want to feel anxious during her last few days home. Soon, she would be returning to King's Landing with Jaime and she wanted to make the most of this time with her siblings and her mother.

So she pushed the Boltons from her mind. She spent time with Sansa. She watched little Lyanna practice walking with the help of her older brother. She helped her mother when she needed it. She read with Bran. She even convinced Robb to spar with her. They did not speak of their earlier argument. Neither of them wanted to fight.

She wished she could spar with Jon as well, but he had left around the same time as the other lords. It had been awful to say goodbye to him so soon, but Arya knew that he was needed at Castle Black.

"We'll see each other again, Arya," he said, mussing her hair before he got on his horse. "I promise."

"Don't make a promise you can't keep," Arya said. "You're going off to war."

"Aye. But I've survived battles before. We both have," Jon said. "We'll make it back here someday. Both of us."

Arya knew that there was a possibility that they wouldn't. But she didn't want to think of that right now. She had to believe she would see Jon again.

All too soon, her time at Winterfell was slipping through her fingers. And Arya's secrets were becoming even more impossible to hold. She had to tell her family about the engagement. She couldn't possibly put it off for much longer, though she truly wanted to do so. Sansa reminded her for perhaps the tenth time that the longer she waited, the worse it would be. Good advice. But Arya didn't want to listen to it.

Even Jaime was beginning to doubt Arya's silence.

"It is your news to tell," Jaime said. "Father likely suspected they'd take it best from you. You don't want them to find out from some rumor or raven, do you?"

"No," Arya muttered.

"Then what's your plan?"

"I thought we'd leave and I'd have Sansa tell them instead."

"I'm all for avoiding your brother and mother's wrath-but that's a terrible idea."

Arya's jaw clenched. Yes. It was a terrible idea. She needed to tell them. She had to. She _had_ to. But Gods did she love to avoid it.

She didn't want her engagement to Jaime to cast a shadow over her time at Winterfell. She would have to leave her home soon for the south and she just wanted to...savor the moment. The evening before they were set to depart, she made it her mission to walk the entire length of the grounds. To take in every memory. To visit every place.

It was this quest that brought her to the weirwood tree. Arya had spent many an hour of her childhood playing in the Godswood. She knew that it was a sacred place, but the trees were so good for hiding and climbing. Now, she had no time for games, but she did like to gaze upon the cracked face of the tree, and its dry, bloody tear tracks.

Today, Bran was in the Godswood as well, his chair sat beside the pool. He looked up at the face rather pensively, as if he had asked it an important question and it had yet to answer.

"Are you praying?" Arya asked. "I can leave if you are."

"No," Bran replied. "Stay."

Arya sat down beside him on the ground, watching his face. He seemed much older than her in that moment. Like an elderly man trapped in a child's body.

"If you came to pray, I won't bother you," Bran said.

"Oh, I don't pray to the gods anymore," Arya said. "I just...wanted to come here."

Bran nodded once. "There is power in these woods. Maybe not the power of gods. But power." He rubbed his hands together. "I've...been having visions for a long while now, Arya. I dreamed that father would die before it happened. I dreamed that the sea would come to Winterfell before the Greyjoys invaded. I dreamed that they would kill Ser Rodrick." He looked at her. "Have you ever had those kinds of dreams?"

"I've had many awful dreams," Arya said. "But I'm not sure they were visions. Not ones that I knew how to interpret." She leaned forward a bit. "What have you been dreaming lately, Bran?"

Bran shrugged.

"Bran. If you've been dreaming something awful, you can tell me," Arya said. "I won't tell. I promise."

Bran's mouth twitched. "I've dreamed...about a false spring. Of the warmth returning to Westeros but only for a very short while. I've dreamed of a winter without end that will follow. And of the blue eyed creatures that come with it."

"Blue eyed creatures?" Arya asked.

"The Others. White walkers," Bran said. "You remember Old Nan's stories."

"The white walkers have been trapped in stories for centuries. They couldn't...be back could they?" Arya asked.

"They are back. Beyond the wall," Bran said. "If we're not careful, they will soon cross it."

"I suppose it's good that the north is sending men to the wall then," Arya said cautiously.

"They won't matter," Bran said with certainty. "Everyone who falls just rises again." He reached out and touched the weirwood tree. "It's been whispering to me Arya. Telling me to go north. I think I need to go beyond the wall."

"Beyond the wall... _with_ the others?" Arya asked. "Are you mad? You can't even walk."

"I would need help," Bran said. "I'm not arguing that. But I need to go there anyway."

"Mother would never let you go," Arya said. "Neither would Robb."

"If I explained to them-"

"It wouldn't matter. They've already lost too much. They won't put you in harm's way again." Arya rested a hand on his shoulder. "I don't want to see you in harm's way either."

"The whole world is in harm's way. It just doesn't know it yet," Bran murmured.

Arya sighed. "Of course the world is in harm's way. It always is, one way or another."

"And what about you?" Bran asked. "Are you in harm's way?"

Arya shifted. "Why do you ask that?"

"Because you seem more nervous these past few days. Like you keep on wanting to say something but you're afraid about how we'll react."

Arya studied her hands. "Really. Has everyone noticed that?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't asked them," Bran said. "You can tell me though. We always kept each other's secrets when we were children."

"I didn't tell mother when I caught you climbing," Arya recalled. "You didn't tell her when I ran away from the Septa to play knight. We used to keep track of how many secrets we were keeping...so that it would be even."

"Yes," Bran said. "So I've told you about my dreams. What do you want to tell me in exchange?"

Arya rubbed her hands together. "That I'm betrothed to marry Jaime Lannister...shortly after I return to King's Landing."

Bran didn't reply for a long while. Arya found it hard to breathe in the silence. She pulled at the smallest fingers of her right hand.

"The nervousness makes sense now," Bran said at last. "But...you are going to tell the others, aren't you?"

Arya shrugged.

Bran gave her a stern look. "Arya. You have to tell them."

Arya opened her mouth to retort. But then something rustled the bushes nearby. She stood, her hand going to her hip on instinct. But she had not brought her swords to the Godswood. She had not thought to need them. "Bran...is Summer nearby?"

"No. He's hunting," Bran said.

Arya slipped her knife into her hand, pacing to the edge of the Godswood. Searching for a threat. She looked around for the guards, trying to see if they had noticed the same sound...but she didn't see any guards. Not on the walls. Not in the trees. That was strange. She was sure one of her escorts had followed her to the godswood.

Then Bran made a choked sound from behind her. Arya spun around in time to see a man jerking her brother from his chair, holding a knife to his throat. "Not a sound from you, girl," the man growled.

"Bran," Arya took a step forward. Something struck her hard over the head, blinding her with pain. She swayed and crumpled to the ground like a stone falling through water.

"He said not a sound," a voice purred from above her. "Rest for a while, little wolf."

Then Arya's world went dark.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Who's ready for the HELL ARC! I call it the hell arc, because the next several chapters have been kicking my ass. Also because it's hell for the characters, but you guys like Game of Thrones, so I assume you're cool with it.**_

 _ **Good news is we get Tywin's perspective next chapter. I know it's been a little while since we got in his head, so look forward to that. Until then, review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	36. Chapter 36: Missing

_**A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger. This one does not have near as bad a cliffhanger though there aren't exactly any peaceful resolutions for several chapters lol. But at least you'll get Tywin! Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 36: Missing**

There was a shift in the air as darkness fell heavily over the North. There was no moon, and only a few stars. Even a torch provided barely enough light to see. This was the time that most usually retreated inside to escape the cold. Yet, as Jaime passed through the courtyard, he noticed an unusual flurry of activity. Men shuffled through the courtyard at a faster pace than normal, muttering to each other. In the distance, he heard a wolf howling, as if in panic. He saw Robb preparing a horse while Sansa Stark pleaded with him.

"It's completely black out there. You can't go out now. You won't be able to see a thing."

"I have to. If he's been taken then...then we can't let them get far."

"You think just one person took him? Or are you going to fight the culprits alone in the dark?" Sansa asked. "Think for a moment Robb. You have other men to send out looking."

"He's our _brother_. Do you expect me to-"

Jaime was so caught up in listening to them that he didn't notice Catelyn Stark until she nearly ran him over. He caught her shoulder to steady her. "Lady Stark. What is it?"

Catelyn Stark shook her head. "We're...looking..."

"Looking for what?" Jaime asked.

"Not what. Who," Catelyn said. "Bran is missing. His chair was found abandoned in the god's wood."

That was a troubling thought indeed. The crippled boy could not just get up and walk. No...He had to have been taken by someone. That explained Robb's desire to charge into the night. "I can help you look."

"No," Catelyn muttered. "We don't need your help."

"It seems you do," Jaime said. "My lady, I know you don't like Lannisters. But it can't hurt to have more men looking. I'll set my guards to the task."

Catelyn did not respond for a moment. Then she gave a small nod.

"Good." Jaime looked around. "Where's Arya?"

"I..." Catelyn Stark's voice had suddenly gone very soft. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen her."

Now, something inside Jaime went cold. When something was wrong, Arya was the first to notice it. If no one had seen her...

"I'll find her," Jaime said, stepping back. "I'll find her now."

But Arya was nowhere to be seen. Not inside the walls of Winterfell or out. When he called out her name, it fell into the silence like a rock into deep water. She, like Bran, seemed to have vanished without a trace. But Jaime was not willing to accept that she was missing until he went to the Godswood. There, in the snow near the wheel of Bran's chair, he found a tiny knife. Her knife.

"Fuck," Jaime muttered, which did not even begin to cover the situation.

* * *

By the next morning, barely anyone in Winterfell had slept, least of all Catelyn Stark. She sat in the great hall with Sansa and Talisa, pulling at the dry skin of her nailbeds. Every part of her was exhausted but her fear laden heart would not allow her to asleep.

Robb and his men were still out searching with every hound in Winterfell. The Lannister men had gone out searching in the other direction. But neither had yet returned and Catelyn had an awful sense that when they did, neither her son nor daughter would be with them.

Gods, why were her children always in such danger? Ever since Bran had first tumbled from the tower, each one of them kept tumbling into greater and greater troubles. And she kept praying for their return.

Those prayers had worked for a while. After Bran fell, she prayed for him to awaken and he did. When Robb road to war, she prayed he would survive it and he did. When her daughters had been taken prisoner in King's Landing, she prayed that they would return to her. Sansa had. Then Arya too, though she was not truly free. When Bran and Rickon had been held hostage by the Greyjoys, she prayed they would not be harmed. They survived. She prayed that Robb would return from the south when he road to swear loyalty to the throne. He had.

But as of late, her prayers were beginning to fail. Rickon fell sick and she prayed that he would survive. But he had died. She prayed that her children would not fall into anymore danger and now Bran and Arya were missing. Perhaps she had run out of favor with the gods. Perhaps she had used up all of her prayers.

"They will be fine," Sansa murmured. "Wherever Bran is, Arya is with him. She'll protect him."

"Who will protect Arya?" Catelyn asked.

"She'll protect herself," Sansa said. "She protected herself in King's Landing, didn't she?"

Yes. Arya had survived nearly four years as Tywin Lannister's ward. Catelyn had to believe she would keep surviving.

But if she didn't...

What if she didn't survive?

Only Catelyn's grandchildren seemed immune to the panic. Talisa had not told them Bran and Arya were gone. She told them their father was out on a ride and would be back soon. Little Ned toddled carefree around the hall, playing with a toy soldier on a horse, imagining it was Robb. Lyanna crawled after him, nipping at his heels, pretending to be a wolf. And little Ben slept soundly in his mother's arms.

"Don't bite too hard, Lyanna," Talisa called with a soft smile. "You don't want to injure him."

"I do!" Lyanna replied with a big smile. Catelyn wondered if she even knew what 'injured' meant.

She remembered when her children had been that way, running carefree about Winterfell, naïve of any troubles in the world. Bran and Arya chased each other and competed to hold a toy sword. Sansa screamed and protested when she accidentally got caught up in the chase. Robb was quick to separate them all from each other, all while little Rickon laughed and laughed.

Gods, what she would do to have those days again. To have her children not know war or death.

The doors to the great hall opened and Catelyn stood as Robb entered. She looked for some hope in his face. Some good news. But his face was grim and his silver eyes were hopeless.

"The trail is dead," he murmured. "We don't know where they are."

Behind him limped a wolf. Summer. He had taken an arrow to the shoulder and was whining desperately under his breath. Long ago, Summer had fended off an assassin meant for Bran. No doubt he had tried to protect Bran again.

But whoever took her son and daughter was prepared for wolves.

* * *

Jaime Lannister returned with the same news hours later. His men had no better luck with the trail. Whoever took Arya and Bran knew how to cover their tracks.

"Wildlings maybe," Talisa suggested. "Jon did say they were preparing to attack the wall. You say wildlings are good at moving without being seen."

"Wildings? Aye. It's possible. It wouldn't be the first time they threatened Bran," Robb said. "But Tywin Lannister's letter makes me wonder otherwise."

"What was in the letter, Lord Stark?" Jaime asked. "What did he warn you about?"

"You don't know?" Robb asked suspiciously.

"My father rarely shares plans with me," Jaime said. "We have a complicated relationship."

Robb exhaled. "He warned us about two families. The Boltons and the Freys. The Boltons were here a few days ago...but they acted in the interest of our family. I had Arya watching them and they did not do anything to cause suspicion."

"The Freys then?" Jaime asked. "It's possible. If it's either of them, they _will_ let you know. They'll want something in exchange for the safe return of Arya and Bran."

"Something," Robb repeated. "Will it be a price I can pay?"

Jaime hesitated. "I...doubt it. Whatever the case, I should send news of this to my father."

"Why must you bring _him_ into this?" Catelyn muttered. She had no more desire for the Lannister to interfere in the affairs of her family. Where they went, hardship always followed.

"Because he will want to know," Jaime said. "She is his ward, and that's common knowledge. This may be a play against him as well."

"A play against him? As if he would care." Catelyn glared up at Jaime. "He would not lift a finger to help her."

"That may not be true," Robb murmured. "What's that you Lannisters like to say? About debts? You always pay them, do you not? Good and bad."

"Yes," Jaime said.

"And your father owes my sister a great debt. One that could not quite be paid by a sword," Robb murmured.

"So she told you," Jaime said. "Father would be angry at that."

Catelyn looked between them. "What is he talking about?"

Jaime exhaled. "Over a year ago, my father was almost assassinated. The...culprit hoped to throw the Starks and Lannisters back into war with each other. Without my father around, Joffrey would have killed Robb without hesitation. Which your daughter must have known because she was with my father at the time of the assassination attempt. She saved his life."

Catelyn did not know how to process this. Imagining Arya fighting off an assassin was almost impossible to her. Imagining Tywin Lannister owing her girl a life debt was even more impossible.

"That's the reason for the sword," Jaime said. "But it's not exactly equal payment."

"No. And if your father takes debts seriously, he will respond," Robb said. "Write him. And we will see what his word is worth."

* * *

Jaime Lannister sent the letter with a rider to be sure it reached his father. And then they waited. Waited to hear from Arya and Bran's abductors.

A fortnight later, they received a letter with the seal of House Frey. Robb called on both Catelyn and Jaime Lannister when it arrived. The two towers made Catelyn tremble with rage. Walder Frey had always been an awful man. Ever since she was a girl, she loathed him. Now, her fury only grew. And it kept growing when Robb broke the seal and read the letter.

 _Give us what was promised and we will give you back what's yours._

Catelyn's heart thundered in her ears as her gaze went from the letter to the envelope. There was still something in it. Something with weight. Robb's hand was shaking as he looked inside.

"Show me," Catelyn muttered.

Robb shook his head once. "Mother."

"Robb _show me_."

Robb exhaled and turned the envelope upside down. Two small fingers tumbled onto the table. The smallest fingers from someone's right hand.

Catelyn thought she might vomit. If hatred alone could kill a man, Walder Frey would have choked right then.

"Whose fingers are these?" Jaime muttered. "Arya's or Bran's?"

From his place on the ground, Summer let out a soft whimper.

Catelyn swallowed hard. "They're Bran's."

"Then what about Arya's fingers?" Robb asked. "Will they come later if we do not respond quickly enough?"

"Maybe," Jaime said. "Unless Walder Frey has gone completely mad."

* * *

Tywin received the letters within days of each other. The first letter came from Jaime at Winterfell, short into the point.

 _Arya is missing. So is her brother Bran. We suspect someone has taken them. We are doing everything we can to find her._

Anger rushed through Tywin when he read the words. He had expected someone to strike back at the Starks, but not so soon. If he had sensed an immediate threat he would never have allowed Arya to go north. She was not meant to be caught up in this mess.

He had two immediate suspects in mind. The two families he wrote Robb Stark about-the Freys and the Boltons. After Genna warned him of the Freys, Tywin had set Varys and his little birds on the task. And he quickly found that Genna was right. The Freys had not relaxed since the end of the war. Oddly, Lord Walder had been sending quite a few of his sons out to talk to the smallfolk most affected by the violence, as well as the smaller noble houses of the Riverlands. They did so under the guise of charity. Of helping the affected. But Walder Frey did not have a single charitable bone in his body. Of course there was another purpose.

"The people of the Riverlands do not think fondly on you, which is no surprise," Varys had reported to him. "But they seem just as angry at Robb Stark. They say he used the Riverlands as his battleground and that the Tullys let it happen because he was family. They view the Freys more favorably. In time, the other lords will join them."

The Frey's popularity was of little consequence to Tywin. Even if the entirety of the Riverlands turned to their side, they could not march on the Capital or Casterly Rock. The Riverlands were broken by the war. But it was notable to Tywin that the Freys were working to undermine the Stark and Tully names as well. Walder Frey wanted revenge for vows broken. They thought they would have the Riverlands at the end of the War of Five Kings. Instead they were left with the Twins and a burnt out countryside to which they had no claim.

Tywin knew less about the Boltons actions since the war, but if the Freys planned to strike at the Starks, they would look to the Boltons as their allies. Plenty of northmen had been displeased with the peace for different reasons. The Karstarks wanted revenge for their patriarch and his sons. The Umbers preferred a foolish fight to the death than a smart retreat. That was to be expected.

But the Boltons, by all outward appearances, were surprisingly content. And that piqued Tywin's suspicion more than anything. They thought they would have a chance at becoming the Wardens of the North and Tywin took that away when he made peace.

The Boltons were also more dangerous because the Starks did not know to fear them. They feared the Freys because of the broken vow to Lord Walder. But Robb Stark never knew that Roose Bolton had been in frequent contact with Tywin.

That was why Tywin wrote the letter to him and charged Arya Stark with delivering it. He would not take ownership of any of the plots made during the War of Five Kings. But he at least wanted Robb Stark to be wary. That way, if the Freys and Boltons did become a problem, he could use the Starks to solve it, just like he had with the Greyjoys.

Now Arya was missing. Who was behind it? The Freys? The Boltons? Or were they working together? Had they been plotting all along in the shadows while Tywin was distracted by more pressing threats?

A few days later, Tywin received the second letter, sealed with the twin towers of House Frey. Inside was a short note accompanied by two fingers.

 _Give us what was promised and we will give you back what's yours._

Tywin's fury froze him. For a long moment he did not even draw a breath. When was the last time he had felt such intense rage? It had been quite a while now. It was as if there was a storm inside of him, the kind of storm that could flood the world.

These were Arya Stark's fingers. The two smallest ones from her right hand. And if he found out who had severed them he would make them beg for death. Did the Freys truly think they could they could play this game with him? He would raze their house to the ground, from Walder Frey to the youngest of his many sons. And if the Boltons were involved, he would add them to the pyre.

Something in his mind snapped into place, like the loaded spring on a trap, ready to crush any unfortunate creature that wandered into its path. He had felt the same way when the Reynes and Tarbecks dared to challenge the Lannister name. When Aerys paid him the insult of making Jaime a King's Guard. When Robert neared his victory. When Catelyn Stark took Tyrion prisoner. When Robb Stark captured Jaime. When Petyr Baelish admitted to having conspired to assassinate him. There was only one path forward. Only one. And he would see it to the end.

He wrote several letters that day. The first he wrote to his brother at Casterly Rock, bidding him come and watch over Tommen. The second he wrote to Jaime and gave to a rider to make sure it was delivered. The third letter was Genna warning her to excuse herself from the conflict of her husband's family. The fourth, fifth and several letters after that, he wrote to his Bannermen, calling them to action. The Freys and all those loyal to them had declared war on House Lannister and they would answer for it. The Tyrell forces would stay and guard the king while they dealt with the traitors in the Riverlands.

The last letter he wrote to Walder Frey. Short. Unsigned, but with the seal of House Lannister.

 _And soon the rains weep o'er their halls, with not a soul to hear._

* * *

 ** _A/N: Yeah, did I mention that one of my favorite tropes is: enemies team up for a common goal? Cause it is. Starks and Lannisters are gonna cooperate and they're going to LIKE it. AND SO ARE YOU GUYS! This also means I get an excuse to write more conversations between Tywin and the Starks lol._**

 ** _Side note, you guys have gotten me over 100,000 hits on this fic. Truly, I can't emphasize enough, how grateful I am for all of you. This is the longest I've gone updating a fic without falling off the wagon and it's all because of your amazing comments and encouragements :) As always, review, subscribe etc. and I'll see you next time!_**


	37. Chapter 37: Return to the Riverlands

_**A/N: Holy SHIT you guys. You REALLY like angry Tywin, huh? Because I got nearly double the reviews I usually get. You're all very good to me. And to all those expressing that: hey this plan by the Freys seems really dumb. Yes. It does. Indeed. But I promise all will make sense by the end ;) Come on this journey with me~**_

 _ **Also a note, in this chapter I actually get some into war details and like...I hate writing war. It's hard and I'm really not that great at it. But I am trying very hard (that's why this arc is kicking my ass). So if like...you notice an error in the Westeros geography or the strategies or anything like that... that's why. The war is all just an excuse for me to do character development stuff lol. In any case...enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 37: Return to the Riverlands**

For Robb, there was only one path forward. But it was a desperately tricky path to walk.

Walder Frey's letter to Winterfell was an act of war against the Starks and Robb had to respond in kind, by calling his banners. But there was an immediate problem with that. Not one moon ago, many of the northmen had already pledged parts of their army to the Wall to help beat back Mance Rayder's army. And Robb could not call them back.

Mance was as much a threat to the north as Walder Frey. If he called his men away and marched south instead, the discontent would only grow. _"Robb Starks thinks only of his family,"_ they would say. _"He pretends to care for the north, but when he faces a choice? He would damn us all for the lives of even one sister. Just like with the Lannisters."_

But Robb could at least call on the men who had elected not to send men to the wall. He could not order them to fight for the Watch. But he _could_ order them to fight for his family.

Every house sent some men, even if only a few. Some houses, like the Umbers had sent half their forces to the wall and sent their other half to Robb. Other houses, like Glover and Manderly, sent the majority of their forces to Robb, having doubts about the true threat of the Wildlings. Their loyalty, they said, belonged to House Stark first. Even the Boltons, who had sent most of their people to the wall, sent some people down south for the cause. It was fortunate that the northmen did not much like the Freys-especially after they had pulled their forces away in the War of Five Kings. They had no qualms with going to war with them. So Robb had at least some sort of army, even if it was small.

The Tullys would be another crucial addition to their numbers. Robb's mother saw to it that they joined them. Her brother Edmuere, who was Lord of Riverrun now, could not afford to let Frey treachery stand in the Riverlands. But there too, numbers were scant. More than one house had declared for House Frey. The Freys had been busy since the war ended, gathering sympathy and Edmuere Tully had largely ignored the rising discontent. The Riverlands was divided against the Starks and the Tullys alike.

"If they think that they can betray the Tullys and the Starks they are sorely mistaken," Robb muttered. "I'll kill every last man involved in this plot."

"If we get Bran and Arya back, we can," his mother replied fiercely. "And if they kill them, we will make them plead for death."

Sansa and Talisa were to stay behind at Winterfell to manage things there, but Robb's mother could not be persuaded to do the same. She was determined, just as with the last war, to accompany him. After all, this was a war against her homeland as much as it was a war against the north. And she would not leave Bran and Arya behind. Not after losing Rickon only a few moons past.

Robb was anxious to leave Winterfell. He was anxious to leave Talisa and the children. Little Ned and Lyanna wouldn't understand why their father was suddenly gone for so long, or why their uncle who had been living at Winterfell for as long as they could remember, was no longer in his chair. Little Ben would be too young to understand anything at all. And how could he begin to explain it to any of them? How could he begin to explain the cruelty of war?

"I'm sorry," Robb told Talisa before they said goodbye. "There was not supposed to be another war any time soon."

"It would have happened eventually. There are always more wars to fight," Talisa grasped his hands in hers. "If not for the children, I would go with you."

Robb looked glanced over her shoulder at where Little Ned was sitting cross legged on the floor, pushing a toy ship across the rug. "I wish I didn't have to go. I keep thinking that...that if I don't come back..."

Talisa shook her head and pulled his lips to hers. They had been wed for five years and still, her lips had not lost their power over him. From the first kiss they shared in his tent all the way to now...their feelings had not dulled or died.

After a long moment, she pulled back and looked up at him. "You will come back," she murmured. "I know you would not leave your children without their father."

 _My father did not mean to do that either. But he did all the same._

"Papa." Robb felt a tug at his cloak and he glanced down to see Lyanna staring up at him with big brown eyes. "Where go?"

Robb swallowed hard. One day, he would have to explain war to his children. He would explain the cruelty of some men and his duty to fight for his family and his people, just as his father once did. He remembered well when he first truly heard about the War of Five Kings and the destruction Aerys had reaped upon the world. As well as the crimes of Rhaegar Targaryen.

" _When two of your family is killed and another taken captive...a man has no choice but to respond in kind. This world speaks a language of violence. So even if you fear war, you must be willing to master it. You must always master your fear in order to do what is right."_

Robb had followed his advice, though he had not expected to do so at seventeen. Back then he had imagined going to war past his thirtieth year when he was wiser and understood the world like his father.

He was not supposed to become lord so early.

If Robb died, that would leave Little Ned as his heir. A four year old boy should never have to bare such a burden so early. So he had to come back. There was no choice.

Robb reached down and gently removed Lyanna's hand. "I'm going south. I'll be gone for a little while, but I'll be back." He smiled at her. "I promise."

Lyanna nodded once. She wasn't quite old enough to understand what a 'long time' meant.

Robb bid farewell to the rest of his children. Then gave one more kiss to his wife. As they rode out from Winterfell, he looked back over his shoulder to see her watching from the battlements, along with Sansa. They would manage affairs fine on their own.

He just had to return to them.

They took as straight a path as possible to the Riverlands. With the Frey's in open rebellion, the bridge would be closed to them. Instead they would have to attack from both sides. Robb and the northern army marched south and set up camp on the east side of the river. The Tully forces, meanwhile, sailed to the Cape of Eagles and setup camp in the west.

Seagard, of course, would be the ideal port from which the Tullys could launch their attack, but they were loyal to the Freys. It was not a surprise, Robb supposed. Seagard was close to the twins and the Mallisters and Freys had historically amiable relations.

An attack on Seagard would, perhaps, be a good first course of action. Otherwise, the Tullys could face an attack from two sides and on land and sea. But Walder Frey was not one to meet them in open battle. He would try to outlast them in a siege first, and rely on others to fight for him.

Then again, Walder Frey _had_ struck first blood. If he had taken hostages, he would want to bargain. If he bargained, how could Robb be sure that Arya and Bran were unharmed beside their fingers? Walder was unlikely to play fair.

The debates with his bannermen were long and tedious. Umber, as always, favored direct action: An immediate attack on the Frey walls. The Glovers favored an attack on the Freys allies in order to cut off their possible supports. Edmuere Tully favored patience and a long siege, which would be equally difficult considering the wet winter the Riverlands was currently experiencing. Ice fell often and their men would weaken over time while the Freys stayed safe within their walls.

A notably absent voice was Roose Bolton's. He had sent men to represent him, but had not come himself. Apparently, he had elected to go to the Wall to fight for the north, along with his bastard son. Robb was made suspicious by their absence. But then, if they were in league with the Freys, why send men to the wall?

There were problems coming at Robb from all sides, just like the last war. The wet winter made poor conditions for a siege, his bannermen were constantly squabbling with the Tully bannermen, the common folk in the Riverlands _hated_ the name Stark and Tully and seemed to blame them for their troubles. Multiple foot soldiers were attacked and some murdered when they tried to go to various towns for ale and women. And if the soldiers retaliated against the commoners, sentiment against them only increased.

They were short on man power. They were short on morale. They were short on resources. They were short on time.

There was one family that had the resources and the man power. But even if Tywin Lannister did arrive, the conflict amongst Robb's men would be immeasurable. Walder Frey was their opponent, but even in the peace, his banner men hated the Lannisters. The Riverlands hated them even more. Would they fight alongside them for the greater good?

Robb was wary enough of his bannermen's hatred of the Lannisters that he kept Jaime Lannister well away from them all and in constant disguise. He wore the colors of the north, and a helmet that obscured much of his face (and his golden hair) when he went around camp. The Karstarks would kill him if they knew he was here, after all. But Robb wouldn't very well leave Jaime Lannister at Winterfell when he was not there to watch him. He did not trust the Lannisters _that_ much.

If Jaime Lannister had any plots, he did not make them known. Surprisingly, he was keen to help Robb with strategy after the other lords had left. Robb asked him more than once why he had not ridden back to King's Landing already.

"You are a King's Guard, aren't you?" Robb asked one evening. "Isn't your place by your nephew?"

"My father charged me to escort Lady Arya to Winterfell and to escort her back to King's Landing," Jaime said. "I've only done half of that job."

"There were extenuating circumstances," Robb said. "I'm sure your father would understand."

"Have you _met_ my father, Lord Stark?"

Robb sighed, leaning over the map again. He had stared at this map for hours at a time, waiting for a clear path to present itself. He did not want to rush into a hasty attack that would lose them more lives, but he worried for Bran and Arya the longer they stayed in Walder Frey's hands. "It doesn't explain why you would risk staying amongst north men who loathe you."

"This helmet is actually working quite well as a disguise," Jaime said. "What do you care for my motives? I'm helping, aren't I?"

"Maybe I don't trust your help," Robb said.

"That is fair."

"I know it's fair. So what are your motives?"

Jaime paced around the table, tracing the fingers of his left hand along the edge. "You know...your sister is quite irritating."

Robb glared up at him. "What?"

"Irritating. Stubborn. Very few survival instincts. It's rather lucky that my father likes her so much."

"He owes her a debt, you mean," Robb muttered.

"No. That's not what I mean," Jaime said. "But if we're speaking of debts, I owe her one as well. After I lost my hand I was rather hopeless. You should have seen me, wandering about the castle like a ghost. I wasn't anywhere close to my usual charming self."

"Charming is a charitable word for you, Kingslayer," Robb said.

"Yes, yes," Jaime said. "The point is, I thought there was no point in picking up a sword with my useless left hand. Your sister...well she forced me to start practicing."

"Forced you?" Robb asked.

"Yes, she kept hitting me with a stick. Like I said: irritating." Jaime shrugged. "It would be poor repayment if I left her to the Freys."

Robb regarded him suspiciously. "Since when do you care so much about honor, Lannister?"

"Why is everything _always_ about honor with you Starks?" Jaime asked. "This has nothing to do with honor."

Robb exhaled long and slow, looking down at the map again. "Everything in the north has to deal with honor. And everyone has a different definition of it. It's exhausting."

"Especially in war," Jaime said. "In war, it's dishonor and tricks that win. But you should know that. That stunt you pulled when you captured me. You sent two thousand men to their deaths."

"Shut your mouth," Robb said.

"That wasn't an insult. A compliment really. It was a brilliant move," Jaime said. "You did what you had to do to catch us off guard. The element of surprise gave you an edge in the war even when you didn't have the numbers or the experience. My father didn't know what to do with you because he knew _nothing_ about you and he expected you to fight like your father in the War of Five Kings. Your father wasn't much older than you then, after all. It was an understandable assumption. But you didn't fight like him."

"Well that doesn't help me here," Robb said. "I don't have the element of surprise anymore. I'm a known entity. My strategies are known. My weaknesses are known." Robb looked up at the Kingslayer. "Walder Frey took my brother and sister because he knows I surrendered to Tywin Lannister for the sake of my family. He has been preparing for this day for sometimes. Preparing food for a siege. Preparing hostages for an attack. Preparing allies to attack us from all sides. Preparing for every move I made in the War of Five Kings."

"I suppose you'll have to make new moves then," Jaime said.

"Easier said than done," Robb said. "Any suggestions?"

"Maybe," Jaime said. "But I'm not the strategist. My father is. You'd be better off talking to him."

"He will be a whole new problem to deal with. He has the men we need, but if he comes, how will I keep my men from dissolving into a fight?" Robb asked.

"When he comes." Jaime paced over the table and poured a shallow cup of wine. "That's half the reason I'm here. I received word an hour ago. My father _is_ coming. He'll be here in a few days' time."

Robb sank slowly into his chair. "Why didn't you lead with that?"

"You seemed very anxious."

"Did I? And do I seem _relaxed_ now?"

"No," Jaime approached Robb and handed him the cup of wine "But at least you won't have to deal with me in your camp anymore."

Robb took a long draught of the wine, wishing for it to dull his nerves. "Small victories."

* * *

At dawn two days later, when Jaime saw the Lannister flags on the horizon, he stole away from the northern camp with his men and rode to meet his father. He did not want to be amongst the northmen when the chaos erupted. He felt rather sorry for Robb Stark. He was in a bad situation no matter which way he turned.

He discarded his helmet the moment he arrived and was quick to find his father's tent. His father was surveying a map much like Lord Stark's, a steely glint in his eyes. He did not look up when Jaime entered, but he saw him none the less.

"So. How did you come to misplace Arya Stark?"

"Are we truly blaming me for this?" Jaime asked. "There are at least five others you could blame before me."

"I'm not here to blame anyone. I'm here to pay back the Frey's for their defiance," Tywin said. "Tell me what happened, from the beginning."

"There's very little to tell," Jaime said. "The day before we were meant to leave, Arya was with her brother Bran in the godswood. Sometime between the afternoon and the evening, they went missing. The Starks received two of Bran's fingers from the Frey's a fortnight later. We assume Arya was taken with him. We have no way of knowing if they are alive."

"If they bothered to send fingers, they are alive," Tywin said, pacing around the table.

"They didn't send Arya's fingers," Jaime said.

"Yes. They did." Tywin replied.

Jaime was amazed. Were the Frey's truly that stupid? Even if his father did not have a fondness for Arya, such a gesture was an insult he would never let pass. It felt out of character for Walder Frey to behave so recklessly. Had age made him senile?

"Which hand?" Jaime murmured at last.

"Her right," Tywin said.

Jaime exhaled. "Well, that's some good news. She has her fighting hand still."

"She won't get a chance to use it if they are smart," Tywin said. "She's fought her way out of many situations. But she's not invincible. They will kill her if she puts up to much of a resistance."

"She's smarter than that," Jaime murmured.

His father nodded once. "I assume you warned Robb Stark of my arrival."

"Yes," Jaime said. "This is going to cause a bit of...a divide in the northern camp."

"Good," Tywin said. "Not everyone in the northern camp is to be trusted. Chaos will draw out the traitors like poison from a wound. Have the Boltons ridden south?"

"A small group," Jaime said. "It's actually a bit complicated. There are less northmen than usual because many able bodied soldiers left for the wall. Apparently Mance Rayder has an army of one hundred thousand wildlings."

"One hundred thousand? It's unlikely any man could force cooperation from even one thousand wildlings," Tywin said.

"Ned Stark's bastard seemed sure of the number," Jaime said. "Roose Bolton apparently sent a great deal of men to the wall. He went himself, if his men are to be believed."

"We'll investigate that claim," Tywin said. "This is too convenient a time for the northern forces to split in two. I wonder if Ned Stark's bastard has other designs in mind."

"Highly unlikely," Jaime said. "The boy is more like his father than any of the rest of them. Sincere to a fault. And he adores his sister. I think this might be an awful coincidence."

Tywin exhaled and sat at his desk. "Perhaps."

Jaime studied his father. "You don't seem well."

"I'm tired," his father muttered. "Every time I deal with one problem and two rise up in its place. After the War of Five Kings, I was forced to handle Joffrey. Then I had to handle your sister. Now that a more stable king is in place and she is home, the Freys are in open rebellion and the wall is in danger of being breached. By the time this war is over, I'm sure that Dorne will decide to take its turn at rebellion. Or perhaps the Targaryen girl will finally make her journey across the sea."

"Perhaps," Jaime agreed. He was beginning to understand why his father took such a brutal approach to dealing with enemies. He had massacred the Reynes and Tarbecks down to the last child. No one could return for revenge if they were dead. "I wonder father, do you still sleep?"

"Rarely," Tywin said. "I suppose Robb Stark will be riding to meet with me soon."

"Yes," Jaime said.

"Good," Tywin said. "We'll see how willing this boy is to do what is necessary."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Tywin is still fully willing to crush those who oppose him but also he's getting old and he's tired. He's been putting out fires since he was twenty and it has never really stopped lol. No rest for the wicked I guess.**_

 _ **I'm so happy I get to write Tywin again. I missed writing him. And next chapter is gonna be super fun. It will have some...moments some of you have been waiting for. And a lot of Tywin which apparently you guys like! Until then, REVIEW!**_


	38. Chapter 38: Blame

_**A/N: Well, this is gonna be a fun chapter. Definetily one of my favorite to write so far. I particularly enjoyed the final conversation. Arya is still not in this chapter (and won't be for the next few chapters) for tension building reasons. But I promise we'll get back to her soon!**_

 _ **Bonus: I've had a playlist made for this fic for awhile and though I'm not going to fully share it yet (because it has some spoilery things on it I think), I do want to share some tracks so, our song of the day is Warpath by Tim Halperin and Hidden Citizens. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 38: Blame**

Robb did not bring any of his bannermen to meet with Tywin, which Catelyn thought was the wisest course. She had seen the chaos the Lannister lions caused in the camp when they appeared on the hill. Some of the men insisted that Tywin had come to fight for the Freys and would betray them at any minute. Others did not care if Tywin came to help or not. They did not want to fight alongside a Lannister. Some of the lords agreed with Robb: that they needed all the help they could get. But even his greatest supporters were wary of the red and gold banners on the horizon.

So Robb took Catelyn and Edmuere with him-along with a small passel of his most loyal guards-to meet with Tywin. Edmuere to represent the Tullys. Robb to represent the Starks. And Catelyn...well she insisted on going with him. The lives of her children were on the line, after all. Robb seemed to understand that because he did not argue with her.

Catelyn was far more worried about Edmuere dealing with Tywin than anyone else. Edmuere had never been a clever man and he wasn't particularly strong willed either. Lord Tywin would sense weakness in him the moment he walked into the tent, and rambling, which her brother was prone to do, would not help their case.

"Do not speak to Lord Tywin," Catelyn advised him. "Truly, I cannot emphasize that enough."

"I'm Lord of the Riverlands, Cat. I can handle him," Edmuere said.

"You cannot," Catelyn said. "Don't speak."

Lord Tywin did not have any of his banner men with him when Robb arrived. Only Jaime. Catelyn wondered if the Lannister bannermen were reluctant to ally with the Starks as well. Robb had killed many of their men in battle, after all.

As much as her son hated Tywin, he kept those feelings to himself when they entered the tent. He bowed his head but only slightly. "Lord Tywin."

"Lord Stark." Tywin glanced from Robb to Edmuere, sizing him up. "Lord Tully."

Her brother did not manage a reply. He simply gave a nervous nod. Tywin's calculating gaze had struck him dumb. Robb, fortunately, was not as easily intimidated.

"I was glad to see your banners on the horizon this morning," Robb said.

"Were you?" Tywin asked.

"You have the men we need. I'm not sure if Ser Jaime explained our situation," Robb said.

"He did," Tywin said. "I am curious about that situation. Jaime was not present when you held court for obvious reasons. When your bastard brother made his plea for the Night's Watch, did any of your bannermen seem eager to contribute troops?"

Catelyn studied him carefully, wondering what he was getting at.

"No one is ever eager for war," Robb replied. "Especially a war with one hundred thousand wildlings."

"Then was anyone in strong support of sending men to the wall?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because this attack on the wall divided your forces just before Walder Frey declared war. You must have suspected by now that he could have spies or allies in the north," Tywin said. "My question stands."

"Lord Bolton," Catelyn murmured. "Particularly his bastard son. He made a particularly grand speech in favor of defending the wall. They sent a good portion of their forces north."

"Who told you this? Bolton's men?" Tywin asked. "I suggest you check the validity of that claim. The Bolton's are not your allies."

"I sent a raven to the wall," Robb said. "My bastard brother Jon Snow confirmed that the Boltons are there."

"And you believe Jon Snow is to be trusted?"

"I would trust him with my life," Robb said without hesitating. "Nevertheless, I will keep an eye on the Boltons. But regarding them...I have a few questions for you," Robb said. "You sent Arya home with a letter warning me of the Freys and the Boltons. The Freys I understand. I broke a vow to Lord Walder and he is not the type of man to forgive. But why the Boltons? Why did you suspect them of treachery? You did not give specific reasons."

Tywin regarded Robb in silence for a moment, as if debating an honest answer. At last, he exhaled. "I told you four years ago that if you rejected my offer of peace four years ago I would destroy your house and name. It wasn't an idle threat. I was in contact with those who had lost faith in you. Walder Frey was one. He wanted to take the Riverlands from the Tullys. Roose Bolton was another. He hoped to become warden of the north in your absence. I did not promise them anything, but when you accepted peace, they lost their chance."

A wave of fury rolled through Catelyn. Roose Bolton had fought alongside Ned more than once. He was not a kind man, but she at least thought he would be honorable. "How long was Lord Bolton against us?"

"Since Ned Stark's death," Tywin said. "He did not think the Starks would survive a war with the Lannisters and he doubted Robb would try to make peace after his father fell. He hoped to outlast you."

Robb's jaw clenched. "What plans did you conspire with these traitors then, Lord Tywin? Did you bid Roose Bolton stab me in the back? Or did you ask Walder Frey to lure me into some trap?"

"I did not bid or ask anything," Tywin said. "But I did not protest their plans either. It was not a clean way to end the war, but it would have ended it."

Robb did not reply but anger was written on every line of his face. Catelyn felt the same fury in her own heart. Tywin Lannister was a man devoid of honor.

"Walder Frey is not a brave man," Tywin continued. "He knew I would not back him once you made peace, and I did not expect him to pursue the Riverlands any further. But he has been spending these past few years wisely. Riling the small folk against you. Convincing others in the Riverlands to rebel against the Tullys. Our Master of Whispers caught wind of several suspicious movements from the Freys. That prompted me to send the letter with your sister."

"And the Boltons? What are their suspicious movements?" Robb asked.

"None," Tywin said. "They seem far too content and supportive of the Starks. It contradicts what I know of them."

"Too content," Robb murmured. "Arya said the same thing."

"You had her watching them?" Tywin asked.

"Yes," Robb said. "She's usually rather good at going unnoticed. But they did notice her. Roose Bolton and his bastard both made a point to speak with her."

"I don't know much of the bastard," Tywin said. "Though I have no doubt he is dangerous if he's learned anything from his father."

"Apparently they both went to the wall. Though now we have reason to check that again," Jaime spoke up. "Arya has good instincts. If she suspected the Bolton's of some plot, I'm inclined to believe her."

Catelyn studied Jaime. It was strange for him to speak highly of Arya or put trust in her. But then, he had been acting familiar around Arya ever since he arrived in the north. She had wondered why more than once.

"I'll send men to investigate Lord Bolton," Robb said. "If he is, indeed, in league with the Freys, or has plots of his own, he may have other allies in the north. I don't want to move on him and lose the trail on the others. In the meantime, something else has me confused."

"And what is that?" Tywin asked.

Robb's eyes glinted like steel. "Why are you here, Lord Tywin?"

"Why am I here?" Tywin repeated. "This is a rebellion, Lord Stark."

"Yes. And you left us to deal with the last one alone. You offered no help with quelling the Greyjoys. I'm surprised to see you offer help now."

Catelyn glanced from her son to Tywin. She wondered if he was trying to force some sort of confession from him. To admit that Arya had indeed saved his life and that he owed her a debt. Tywin was not one to walk into such a trap.

"Arya Stark is my ward. It's a personal insult to House Lannister," Tywin said.

"Most people don't go to war for their wards," Robb said.

"You're right," Tywin said. "It happens that she is important to my family's legacy."

"Father," Jaime muttered under his breath. Suddenly, the Kingslayer looked like he would like to disappear.

Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Tywin held her gaze. "Arya is engaged to marry Jaime."

Catelyn wasn't sure what she expected to hear but it was _not_ that. To her right, she was aware of Robb taking a furious step forward. She threw out her arm to stop him though she wanted nothing more than to launch herself forward as well. At Tywin or Jaime. She wasn't sure yet.

"So that's your plan? A perfect way to keep Arya permanently in your hold," Robb snapped. "I don't suppose you've told Arya about this."

"Actually I have. She's known about the match for over a year now," Tywin said. "I suppose I can understand why she didn't tell you."

"This is crossing a line, Lord Tywin," Catelyn muttered. "Arya is still a Stark."

"And once she returns to King's Landing, she will become a Lannister," Tywin said.

Robb hissed and pushed past Catelyn's arm. But as he stepped forward, Tywin Lannister stood to meet him, his expression hard. With his height, he towered over Robb.

"Don't try it, boy."

"Call me boy again," Robb muttered.

"I will. If you continued to act like one," Tywin said coldly. "Weren't you planning to marry your sister to a Frey boy for that bridge? Tenth or twelfth in line for the seat of the Twins?"

Robb's jaw clenched and Catelyn shuddered. Yes, they had promised Arya to one of Walder Frey's grandsons, and she would have loathed the match. It was a desperate time, and Catelyn had hated to do it. But at least it was a boy her age. Not a Lannister. Not the Kingslayer.

Why hadn't Arya said something? Was she so desperate to keep her family from worrying-to keep the peace-that she would hide such a terrible secret?

"Isn't Ser Jaime a King's Guard?" Edmuere spoke up, breaking the tense silence. Everyone turned to look at him and he shrunk a bit. "I just...Kingsguard can't marry so..."

"Jaime lost his hand in battle. He was unfit to continue as a Kingsguard so King Tommen released him of his duties," Tywin said flatly.

"Right. Of course," Edmuere said, looking suddenly like he would like to flee.

"You were very quiet on that point, ser," Catelyn glared at Jaime.

"It wasn't for me to tell," Jaime muttered, fidgeting with the glove on his golden hand.

"She's a _child_ ," Catelyn snapped.

"Her sixteenth name day has passed. She is of age," Tywin said.

"Yes. And more importantly, right now, she's a _hostage_ of the Freys," Jaime raised his voice. "And she might die. Who bloody cares who she's engaged to?" He circled around Robb and Tywin. "I'm leaving."

"This discussion is not at its end, Kingslayer," Robb said.

"Of course it isn't," Jaime sneered. "By all means, convince my father to give up the engagement. Arya and I will both thank you for it."

Robb was just barely holding his temper. If Tywin noticed, he remained unmoved.

"The discussion _is_ at its end. My son could not change my mind. Neither could your sister. What makes you think you have a chance?"

Robb gritted his teeth together and stepped back. "For now, we focus on fighting the Freys. Then we can worry about the future."

Tywin nodded once, pacing back behind his desk.

Robb made to leave and looked at Catelyn, as if expecting her to move as well. She did not. "Go one. I will follow shortly. I would like to speak with Lord Tywin for a moment."

Robb glanced from her to the Lord of House Lannister, worry in his eyes. He did not want to leave his mother to deal with a lion. But her boy forgot that she could be as much a wolf as him. She had teeth of her own.

At last, he nodded and left the tent, followed shortly by her nervous brother. Tywin Lannister did not look up from the papers on his desk. "Why send your son away? I doubt you have secrets from him."

"I don't," Catelyn said flatly. "But my son is determined to keep peace with you and has no choice but to be diplomatic. I don't want him to feel responsible for what I am about to say."

Now, Tywin looked up. He had colder eyes than any man Catelyn had ever met. Most would have been afraid of him, but she had a mother's fury to steady her heart and voice.

"You can't imagine how much I've hated you. Ever since you snatched Arya away from me and to that viper's nest of a capitol."

"I think your hatred is clear enough," Tywin said.

"You're only seeing the surface of it," Catelyn muttered. "You could never understand just how deep it goes."

"In fact, I can," Tywin said. "One of my children was used as a hostage once."

"Jaime was a man grown when Robb took him prisoner. He-"

"I'm not talking about his captivity with Robb," Tywin said. "I'm talking about his captivity with the Mad King."

Catelyn did not quite know how to respond. "He was a King's Guard, not a hostage. The youngest King's Guard in history."

"He was. But Aerys did not name him for his skill," Tywin said. "He named him King's Guard to strike back at me. He robbed me of my heir, which was insult enough. But that wasn't his only intent. He wanted Jaime as a hostage. He wanted someone to burn if I ever moved against him. Just as he burned your late husband's father and brother. He liked to watch people burn." Tywin plucked a wooden figurine from his desk. It looked like a game piece. A king with a broken crown. He rolled it in his hand, almost absently. "I waited in Casterly Rock, wondering when Aerys would tire of keeping Jaime hostage. I wondered when I would receive word that my son was dead."

Catelyn did not reply. Jaime Lannister was a Kingslayer who betrayed the man he was bound to serve. That was what Ned always said and that was what she always believed. She did not consider why.

Tywin looked up at her. "I never received that word, but I paid Aerys back for the threat. I sacked his city and made way for his enemy to take the throne. And Jaime stabbed him in the back. I imagine you wish you could do the same. I imagine you wish that your daughter would run me through."

"She wouldn't have had to," Catelyn muttered. "She could have just let you die."

Now it was Tywin's turn to be silent. He set the king with the broken crown back on the desk in front of him.

"Robb blames himself for Arya and Bran's situation," she said. "But I blame you. Your false promises-your games-are the reason why the Freys are moving against us."

"I didn't promise the Freys anything," Tywin said.

"I won't debate semantics with you. You made Lord Walder believe you would give him the Riverlands. He didn't get them and now he's angry. That's the truth," Catelyn said. "You couldn't beat my son in the field; you decided to use treachery as your weapon. You used treachery and my daughter to earn your victory. And now she's _suffering_ for it."

Tywin regarded her for a long moment. His gaze was hard and his jaw taught with tension. He stayed calm and controlled, however. Catelyn wondered if the Lord of Lannister ever allowed himself a single impulsive reaction. "Do you think it more honorable to win a war on a battlefield, Lady Stark?"

Catelyn was caught off guard by the question. "That is the object of war."

"The object of war is to win, whether on the battlefield or with letters," Tywin said. "It isn't a game. If you lose you cannot try again. And the longer you play it, more people die. I made certain arrangements so that the war would end as quickly as possible. If I had fought the war solely on the battlefield, countless more soldiers and smallfolk would have died. That does not seem honorable to me."

"Don't pretend the lives of others have ever mattered to you," Catelyn muttered.

"I don't pretend anything," Tywin said. "I ended the war to secure the future of my family. But it did save lives, whether I intended it or not."

"And this new war?" Catelyn asked. "Will it save lives?"

Tywin exhaled and sat down at his desk. "I thought your daughter inherited her tenacity from her father. I see I was mistaken."

"You don't get to speak of her," Catelyn muttered. "It's because of you she is in danger."

"You're right," Tywin said. Catelyn did not expect him to say it so bluntly. She expected more empty justifications. Not a blunt admission. "They took the boy to provoke your eldest son. They took Arya to provoke me. I imagine they sent you two of the boy's fingers?"

Catelyn swallowed hard. "Yes...How did you...?"

"Because they sent me two of Arya's," Tywin said.

Catelyn's shoulders shuddered. Part of her had hoped Arya might still be unscathed. Her daughter was strong and fierce, but to imagine her in pain was almost too much. "Why? Why send them to you?"

"She's my ward," Tywin said simply.

"She's your pawn," Catelyn said. "You took her to keep my family in line and you've used her for your own gain ever since then. Why should you care if she suffers?"

"Does it matter?" Tywin asked. Now his tone grew sharp, as if they were entering a conversation he did not want to have. "I've brought soldiers to help your son. Soldiers he sorely needs. I'm sure you would not turn them away."

"No," Catelyn said. "No, we'll take your soldiers and your help, because it is the very least you can do after all of the hardships the Lannisters have wrought on the Starks." She lifted her chin. "And if Arya dies, her blood is on your hands."

He did not reply. But something in his expression did shift. Catelyn could not name the change exactly, but it seemed almost pained. "Agreed," he murmured. "Have you said your peace?"

"For now." Catelyn said. Then she turned and swept from Tywin Lannister's tent.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Most people: Tywin Lannister is very dangerous and you should not cross him. He is terrifying and all the realms tremble in fear**_

 _ **Stark women: I am fully willing to FIGHT Tywin Lannister with my BARE fucking hands and also my words because FUCK him.**_

 _ **But yes. You all have your big reveal of the marriage plot. Fortuantely, Arya managed to avoid being there for that awkwardness. By being kidnapped. But still her plan worked out!**_

 _ **Thanks for reading, be sure to review and I hope you enjoyed!**_


	39. Chapter 39: Paranoia

_**A/N: Well, last time I had a fun convo with Catelyn and Tywin so now it's time for a fun convo between ROBB and Tywin. I keep on finding ways to make my faves talk to Tywin, but this is MY FIC and NO ONE can stop me.**_

 _ **Song of the day this time is 'The One to Survive' by Hidden Citizens. Their two newest albums are actually FULL of good songs for this fic, but this one in particular fits the whol thing (and Game of Thrones in general).**_

 **Chapter 39: Paranoia**

It was difficult to fight a war when one did not know who to trust, and Tywin's report about the Boltons had left Robb suspicious of all his banner men. His decision to make peace had not been popular. And before he made peace, he had alienated the Karstarks after he killed their patriarch. How many of his bannermen were on the side of the Boltons? And were the Boltons in league with the Freys or a separate threat all together?

These questions poisoned his mind and left him with many sleepless nights. He wished often for Talisa. In the last war, she had always been at his side. Their love was fresh and new. Naïve, perhaps, but she was something to hope for after a hard day.

Now, his tent greeted him with silence and a slew of problems to keep him occupied until daybreak.

Oddly, the Lannister army became something of a blessing. Tywin's first act on the battlefield was to burn the Mallister fleet at Seagard, making a coastal assault impossible. It allowed the Tully forces to lay siege to the western castle of the Twins without worrying about an attack from the rear. Tywin sent out smaller forces to attack other Frey allies. Some of them surrendered as soon as they saw the Lannister lion, not wanting to provoke Tywin's wrath. The smallfolk stopped fighting soldiers for the same reason.

It confused Robb. Had the Freys not told their allies that they planned to antagonize Lord Tywin as well? Was this a scheme of Walder Frey alone? It seemed foolish to pull the lion's tail and not expect a response.

Even as the Lannisters cleared out the threats from behind them, Lord Tywin's presence only made the northern lords more combative. The Umbers were especially vocal about wanting him gone. They claimed that the north could fight its own battles. The Umbers had been the most vocally against the peace as well. Could they be with the Boltons?

The Bolton men were quiet about the whole thing. They did not raise dissent and they followed orders without question. Robb didn't like it. It only made him feel more nervous. He suspected everyone of a possible plot. If the Boltons could turn on him, couldn't anyone else? They did not respect him as their leader. Not since he surrendered to the crown.

"Lord Stark."

They would never respect him like they respected his father. His father won a great rebellion to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty. But Robb...

"Lord Stark."

Robb snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. He had nearly forgotten where he was for a moment. In Tywin Lannister's tent, listening to a report about the surrender of House Darry. It was a victory for their army. One less enemy to worry about. Yet Robb had barely registered the words.

"Yes, House Darry," he murmured at last. "That's nearly all of the Frey allies surrendered now."

"All but the Mallisters yes. But they are not a concern without their fleet," Tywin said. The lord of Casterly Rock was studying him closely. Robb tried to ignore it, staring intently down at the map on the table.

"That didn't take very long," he murmured.

"The Riverlands is still scarred from the last war," Tywin said. "I'm not sure they understood what kind of game Walder Frey was playing. I did not expect them to last long."

"This is only happening at all because you set the Riverlands on fire," Robb muttered.

"Really? And I could have sworn it had something to do with you breaking your vow to Walder Frey," Tywin said flatly. "Don't presume to lay all of the blame for your troubles on me. You made missteps without my help."

Robb felt rather like knocking over a chair, but that would have been an immature response. Instead he gripped the back and imagined he could crush the wood with his anger.

Lord Tywin was silent for a long moment. Then he indicated the chair. "Sit."

"I don't take orders from you," Robb said.

"I'm the Hand of your King. Technically, you do take orders from me," Tywin said. "Sit. You've been swaying ever since you stepped into my tent."

Robb couldn't argue with that. He felt utterly exhausted. But part of him wanted to keep standing anyway, just to defy the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Ultimately, he rejected that childish inclination and took a seat.

"Good," Tywin crossed over to his desk and poured two goblets of wine. "You haven't been sleeping."

It was a statement, not a question.

"How can I?" Robb asked. "I don't know which of my men to trust."

"The traitors will come to the surface soon enough," Tywin said. "Keep your tent well-guarded and you do not have to fear a knife in your back while you rest."

"And what if the guards cannot be trusted either?" Robb muttered.

"There's a fine line between suspicion and paranoia, Lord Stark." Tywin moved over to him, offering him one of the goblets of wine. Robb accepted, slowly. Maybe the wine would settle his nerves, and he desperately needed that. "Aerys Targaryen let the latter drive him to madness by the end."

"That bodes well for me," Robb said. "It doesn't matter. Even the men loyal to me see me as weak. Because _you_ forced my surrender."

"I did," Tywin agreed. "You could have refused."

"You would have killed Arya. I didn't have a choice."

"You had a choice," Tywin said. "Men always have choices, even when they're terrible. Those choices have consequences either way." Tywin sipped his wine. "You made the better of the two choices."

"Better for you, perhaps."

"No. Better for you as well. And your family and your bannermen. They just don't know it. They'll never truly know it."

Robb's grip tightened on his cup. "Most of them still see me as a boy. They respect my father's ghost more than me. Not that I blame them. When my grandfather and uncle were killed, and my aunt Lyanna taken, my father went to war to seek justice. And he got it. He helped end centuries of Targaryen rule. Rhaegar died. Aerys died. He did exactly what he set out to do."

"Perhaps," Tywin said. "But your father's killer is dead as well."

"Not killed by a Stark, so it doesn't matter much, does it?"

Tywin paused for a long moment before he spoke again. "Your father did not kill Rhaegar or Aerys himself. Did it matter to your banner men then?"

Robb did not reply. No, his father hadn't killed any Targaryens personally. He assisted Robert Baratheon all the way to the throne. Yet still, he was strong. He was respected as a military commander. Robb felt as if he was only playing at being his father.

"Respect is not earned by your name alone. Even eldest sons are not born into respect," Tywin said as he sat down at the table across from Robb. "My father was not the eldest son. He was third in line for Lord of Casterly Rock. He stumbled into the title, and he was not equipped to deal with it. By the time I was born, the Lannister name had lost all respect in the West. Other lords knew they could manipulate my father into giving them whatever they wanted. They refused to pay taxes. My father refused to force the issue. The responsibility fell to me. Now, only fools disrespect the Lannister name. Do you know why?"

"I assume you are going to tell me," Robb murmured.

"Because I was willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure my family lived on," Tywin said.

"You were willing to massacre innocents," Robb retorted. "I know the story. You killed every Reyne and Tarbeck down to the last child."

"And since then, my bannermen have never rebelled against me," Tywin said.

Robb glared down at his wine. "My father's bannermen did not rebel against him. He never took part in a massacre."

"Your father had the luxury of winning a noble rebellion," Tywin said. "Not every lord gets to choose to play hero for the respect of their people."

"I thought all men had choices. Even terrible ones," Robb retorted.

Tywin regarded him coldly. "They do. And I made mine a long time ago." He stood again, returning to his desk. "How you deal with this rebellion will determine the future of your house, Lord Stark. I will handle the Freys once they surrender, because I don't trust your fool of an Uncle to have a strong hand. But I leave the fate of any northern traitors to you. You will have a choice. If you make the wrong choice, you will have another rebellion on your hands in a few years' time. Make the right choice, and the north might know stability again."

Stability. That was a foreign concept to Robb, but he knew he must seek it to keep his family safe. Justice was not the problem. He was willing to put all of the traitors to the sword. But how would he decide who was a traitor and who was not? Where did he show mercy? His father always spoke against punishing the innocent for the sins of the guilty. But where did one draw that line?

"You are a better commander than your father." Tywin broke the silence again as he began to sort through papers on his desk.

Robb's head jerked up. "I...what?"

"Your father was not born to rule the north," Tywin said. "Your uncle Brandon was. Eddard Stark was a second son trained all his life to follow. You were raised knowing that you would lead one day," Tywin said. "But beyond that, your father was too honorable. Too honest. On the battlefield he always made a straightforward play. It worked against the Mad King because the rebellion had great numbers and Aerys had few allies in the end. But if your father had been leading the charge in the War of Five Kings...I would have routed him in a few months."

Robb opened his mouth to defend his father but Tywin Lannister held up a hand.

"Fortunately for you, you did not fight like your father. You made moves that he might have called dishonorable. That gave you a great many victories on the battlefield. Because you didn't treat war like a game of honor. You treated it like a life or death conflict. Which it was."

"If I lost, my family was doomed," Robb said. "So I couldn't lose."

"Family outweighs everything else. Including honor." Tywin sat back in his seat. "Your sister understands that. I hope you do as well."

"I do. But I do not discard honor, Lord Tywin." Robb stood slowly. "Aye, my father may have been too honest. Too honest for King's Landing at any rate. But in the north, honor is important. My men will not respect me if I follow in _your_ footsteps."

"I don't suggest you follow in my footsteps. Different situations require different responses," Tywin said. "I did not deal with each of the five kings in the same way, did I?"

That was true. He hadn't. Tywin had a different way of dealing with each of the houses who rose up against the crown. The Stark family had survived. But the other Baratheons and the Greyjoys...they were gone.

"You said you'll leave any northern traitors to me," Robb said after a pause. "Do you mean that?"

"I do," Tywin said.

"Why?" Robb asked. "You're so fond of giving orders. Controlling everything yourself. And the north is a very large stretch of land. Why leave its fate in my hands?"

"Because," Tywin said. "I want to see what kind of leader you will become."

* * *

Sieges were a long and tedious business that usually involved a lot of waiting. And waiting was far more difficult when one was worried about the fate of their children. Every day that passed, Catelyn was worried that Walder Frey would send more fingers from Bran or Arya. Worse, she feared that they might already be dead. She had not seen them since she arrived. What if he disposed of them months ago? It would not be wise to kill hostages, but then, neither was antagonizing two major houses at once.

Then, one day, they did receive a letter from Walder Frey, carried by a single rider.

 _I will meet with Robb Stark to discuss terms of peace within a fortnight, or I will kill Bran Stark._

It was short and to the point. And absolutely out of the question.

"If you go to discuss peace terms with Walder Frey, you won't leave the castle alive," Tywin Lannister told Robb after he read the note. They had gathered once again in his tent: Tywin and Jaime to represent the Lannisters. Robb and Catelyn to represent the North. And Edmuere to represent the Riverlands.

"But if he comes with the intention to discuss peace-" Edmuere started to say.

"It won't matter," Tywin said. "Walder Frey is willing to break the rules of war, honor and the gods. And the moment he kills Robb, the entirety of the northern army will destabilize, giving any possible traitors the perfect opportunity to seize power. Meeting with him would be walking into a trap."

"I agree," Robb said. "So how do you suggest I save Bran and Arya?"

Tywin glanced up at him. "This seems like a question for your bannermen. Why ask me?" He asked the question like he already knew the answer. As if he was testing Robb.

"I do not know which of my bannermen can be trusted," Robb said. "If I make plans with any traitors, they could warn Walder Frey and prompt him to kill Bran sooner. And if I try to make plans with only my most trustworthy men, the traitors will know I suspect them."

Tywin inclined his head. If the question was a test, Robb had clearly passed. "Yes, they would. Hopefully we can prevent that." Tywin rested back in his seat. "Walder Frey's place in this war rests entirely on his hostages. Without them he has no leverage and we could storm his keep within the night."

"Easier said than done," Robb said.

"But not impossible," Tywin said. "What do you know of the Defiance of Duskendale?"

Robb's brow furrowed. "It was a massacre, wasn't it?"

"A massacre of House Darklyn and all of their allies, yes," Catelyn said. She had heard the horror stories of Duskendale when she was a girl. They were not the sort of stories a young lady was supposed to hear, but Petyr had always enjoyed telling the awful tales. "The Mad King ordered every one of them executed. Some of those executions were particularly brutal."

"That was the aftermath, yes," Tywin said. "But the massacre came as the result of a particularly stupid rebellion. The Darklyn took the king prisoner when he came to collect their taxes. Storming the keep may have killed him. So Barristan Selmy volunteered to undertake a rescue mission. It succeeded. Lord Darklyn surrendered the next day."

"As I recall, father," Jaime spoke up. "That was a very risky gamble that you did not think would succeed."

"War is full of risky gambling," Tywin said. "I wouldn't send just one man in this case."

"No. A small group would better," Jaime said. "Actually, I may have something to contribute to this possible strategy."

Tywin glanced up at Jaime. "Really?"

"Don't act so surprised," Jaime said. "I may be terrible at politics, but I'm actually rather good at war. And the strategy I used at Dragonstone might work here."

"Didn't you lose your hand at Dragonstone?" Robb asked.

Jaime let out an irritated breath. "Yes, but that had nothing to do with my strategy. The _strategy_ worked." He stepped forward to the table. "We concentrated our attacks at obvious points on the outer wall. The soldiers went to deal with those attacks and left gaps. That allowed a small group of men to sneak into the keep at one of those gaps. They disguised themselves as Baratheon men. Then, they caused a distraction to draw the guards away from the main gate and opened it for my army. It was a gamble, yes, but one that won us the day. We could sneak a few men over the walls to rescue Bran Stark with the same method. And the Twins aren't surrounded on all sides by ocean. That makes it easier."

"It does," Tywin said. "Though if possible, we should place men inside the keep well in advance. Unlike Duskendale and Dragonstone, this can't be a last minute gamble. This needs to be carefully planned, and we'll need eyes and ears inside to do it."

"The men who helped infiltrate Dragonstone are still with us. I can set them to it," Jaime said. "They proved themselves more than capable a few years ago."

"But there are other problems," Robb said. "If we antagonize Walder Frey with a direct attack, he may kill Bran or Arya sooner. When you attacked Dragonstone, Stannis did not have any hostages."

"So perhaps the distraction should not be an attack," Catelyn murmured.

"What then?" Jaime asked.

"Walder Frey wants to meet to discuss peace terms," Catelyn said. "Despite Robb's broken vow, he will expect Starks to keep to a code of honor. If we accept, he may lower his guard."

"But who do we send to meet with Walder Frey?" Robb asked.

"The same person we sent the first time," Catelyn said. "Me."

Robb shook his head. "No. Absolutely not."

"Robb's right. You can't go," Edmuere said.

"He'll kill you too," Tywin pointed out. "Or at the very least add you to his collection of hostages."

"Of course he will," Catelyn said. "Which is why he will allow me to enter the keep. If Robb sends one of his bannermen, it will be seen as an insult and provoke him. Lord Walder will see Robb sending his mother as an insult as well, but he'll still accept it because he can use me against Robb. Then while he thinks he has earned another victory, we pull the rug out from under him."

Tywin rubbed his jaw. "It could work...But there is still a high likelihood you will die. Once Walder Frey understands that there is foul play, he might kill you immediately."

"Exactly," Robb said. "So it's out of the question."

"It's not." Catelyn lifted her chin, looking between her son and Tywin. "If it can save Arya and Bran...let Lord Walder kill me. I am more than willing to die."

There was a long silence in the tent after her declaration, until Jaime hesitantly spoke again. "Lord Stark. It isn't ideal but...I can't think of a better alternative. Can you?"

Robb stared a long time at the ground, as if searching there for another way. For any other way. Catelyn's heart clenched at the sight. Her son was everything a good Lord should be. And yet sometimes, she still saw the child in him. Her boy, forced to grow up too early. He did not want to sacrifice his mother, but he knew as well as anyone: there wasn't another way.

This was their best chance.

At last, Robb looked up and met her gaze. "All right. But I will only send you in if there is a chance of success. First, in order for this plan to work, we must get men on the inside. We must have a guaranteed opening. If we have that...then I'll send you." He swallowed hard. "But only if your promise to survive as long as possible."

"I will," Catelyn said.

Robb turned back to Tywin. "I'll send word to Lord Walder, agreeing to meet to discuss terms in a fortnight. I will tell my banner men that I plan to send my mother to negotiate, and that we will cease our attacks during that time. If there is a traitor amongst them, word of my orders will find its way to Walder Frey. It will make him less likely to suspect. Then I will choose men that I trust above all others to tell the true plan."

"And if you choose wrong?" Tywin asked.

"There's a fine line between suspicion and paranoia, Lord Tywin," Robb said flatly. "If I don't have any men I can trust then I am clearly not fit to lead the North."

Tywin nodded once, as if satisfied with his response. "I suppose you plan to lead the ultimate rescue."

"I do," Robb said. "I won't truly trust anyone to do this but myself."

"It's not wise to put yourself in the crossfire. The north could easily lose its leader if things go poorly," Tywin said.

"I know," Robb said. "As I said...we'll only go through with this if there's a reasonable chance of success. If your spies find no openings, then we will hold back. But if they do...then I will make sure that things do not go poorly."

"See that you do," Tywin said.

With that, Tywin Lannister seemed to give his final approval for this venture. It was strange to Catelyn that they were plotting with this man at all. But an enemy of their enemy was their ally.

And Arya and Bran came before any past grudges.

* * *

 _ **A/N: People are afraid to disrespect Tywin but all of the Starks have majored in throwing shade so...yep. Also, hopefully the plan made sense because I'm bad at plans lol. I reread that section twenty times and I don't know how to do words anymore *collapses*. Fuck the hell arc!**_

 _ **Anyhow, review subscribe and all that and I'll see you next time!**_


	40. Chapter 40: Plans and Plots

_**A/N: Welcome back to: Kallypso had to come up with war strategies and make them sound legit and she's tired! Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's got some Jaime POV and we even look at what Sansa has been up to during this war thus far!**_

 _ **And for those of you still wondering where that Arya POV is...it will be here next Thursday. The first part of this hell arc concludes on Monday and then I promise we will finally get back to Arya's head. Thanks for going on this journey of having the main character be out of the story for a bit with me lol. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 40: Plans and Plots**

Jaime caught up to Robb once they left his father's tent. "Lord Stark. Might I have a word?"

"You may have several if you'd like," Robb said. For a moment, Lady Catelyn stopped to look back at her son and he waved her to continue on. "What is it?"

"You said you plan to lead the rescue mission yourself, yes?" Jaime asked.

"Yes," Robb said. "Men in the North respect action. They won't respect me if I send others in to do the work for me."

Jaime nearly sighed. This boy really was his father's son. It occurred to Jaime, not for the first time, that he was holding a sword that by all rights should belong to Robb Stark. But now was not the time to discuss that.

"I'm not arguing," Jaime said. "But I would like to join you."

Robb studied Jaime for a long moment. "Are you so eager to lose your other hand?"

"No. I don't plan on it," Jaime said. "I'm hoping the golden hand might distract them. Most men are used to targeting the right side."

"Even so...I doubt your father would approve."

"Of course he wouldn't. Why do you think I waited until we left his tent to mention it?"

Robb's eyes narrowed as he studied Jaime. "Why then...Why risk this at all?"

"You're risking as much as I am," Jaime pointed out.

"They're my family. My responsibility. What's your reason?"

Jaime exhaled and flexed his left hand a few times. He really hated having this discussion. Did he really need to spell it out? "I told you already, didn't I? I built my entire identity on my right hand. After I lost it, I thought I might as well die, because there was no point in it all if I couldn't wield a sword. Your sister is the one who made me pick up a blade with my left hand.

"You told me," Robb murmured. "You didn't tell me why though. Why did she do it?"

"Oh, I don't know. She has this odd habit of saving members of my family. I don't think she even realizes she's doing it." Jaime sighed. "Though really...perhaps she just wanted a sparring partner and I was there. Or maybe she's a genuinely good person. I'm not really sure."

He was sure. Arya Stark was a good person. Better than most. Even if she had a strange way of going about her father's honor, she still had it. He hated to think of her trapped in the Twins without her weapons. Fortunately he had brought all of them south. Her nameless knife, Needle and Winter's Fury. Just in case she needed them. Maybe he could pass one to her when they found her.

"Look, we can call it paying a debt and be done with it," Jaime said. "I'd like to help save Arya. Is that so much for you to believe?"

Robb shook his head. "It's not. Fine. Have it your way, so long as you don't stab me in the back."

Jaime's smile was sharp. "Don't worry. I only do that to vicious kings."

When Robb had left, Jaime returned to his father's tent. He was turning a Cyvasse piece in his hand, but he set it down when Jaime entered.

"What did you discuss with Robb Stark?" Tywin asked.

"We're plotting to overthrow you so I can claim the title of Lord of Casterly Rock sooner," Jaime said snidely.

Tywin gave him a look. "I'm not in the mood for jokes right now."

"You're never in the mood for jokes." Jaime sighed. "I just thought it would be important to get Arya a weapon as soon as possible. One of the soldiers on the expedition can carry Needle easily enough. Or her knife."

Tywin nodded once. "I suppose it's fortunate that she didn't have her swords with her. Otherwise they would be in the possession of the Freys." He sipped from his wine. "But perhaps if she had her swords with her, she wouldn't have been taken."

"I couldn't say," Jaime said. "I believe she kept them in her room to avoid drawing suspicion from the northern lords."

"That doesn't seem like her idea."

"No. If I had to guess it was her mother and brother," Jaime said. "It doesn't matter. She'll be back soon. She'll be all right."

He was half saying it because he needed to reassure himself. He was worried about her. Even though she was a fighter, he was still worried. Because he had seen strong people die so many times in his life.

His father did not reply. Jaime wondered if he was just as uncertain. After all, Walder Frey had not made any mention of Arya in his note. Had she fought back and earned a dagger to the heart? Bran was a more valuable hostage, since he was a son.

"It's late," his father said at last. "You should see to those men from the Dragonstone siege. We don't have time to delay."

"Right," Jaime murmured. "Of course."

* * *

For a week, Robb kept silent about Walder Frey's request. He did not tell any of his men. Not yet. Before they could really go through with their plan, they had to be sure that it had a chance of succeeding.

The first step was getting men inside the twins. They had been probing at their defenses for some time, so they had an idea of small chinks in their armor. At this point in the siege, some of the Freys and the soldiers would be panicking. Their allies had largely been cut away by Lord Tywin. In a waiting game, the Frey's would ultimately lose. That was, of course, the reason Walder Frey had threatened Bran. He was getting worried. Desperate. And desperation meant weakness. They only needed a few to get inside the walls in order to make the plan viable. And Jaime Lannister ordered his men to do so by any means necessary.

"There are ways to break a castle," Jaime said. "And I'm sure the Twins are rife with conflict right now. Some of Walder Frey's sons did not want any part of this fools conflict. I can guarantee that."

"But will they be willing to turn against their father?" Robb asked.

"Depends," Jaime said. "I hear he's the worst sort of person."

At the end of the week, they heard good news. Three soldiers had managed to get inside the castle and sent a fourth back to report. In proper disguises, they would be able to slip unnoticed through the Twins. And they would be able to create an open to let Robb and Jaime's party inside. On top of that, they would be able to see how things _really_ were inside the keep.

The report was favorable. Nearly all of Walder Frey's sons were in a panic. They had expected to grapple with the north but not Tywin Lannister. That was not part of the plan. In fact, very few of them even seemed to know the plan. They were looking for a way out of this, and apparently Walder Frey's threat against Bran was some sort of latch ditch gamble to lure Robb into the castle, in hopes of cutting the head off of the northern army.

"Everything about this seems so terribly executed," Robb said. "There's no...strategy to all of this. Do you think Walder Frey's age is catching up with him?"

"It's possible," Jaime said. "He has always disliked my father, but he had the good sense to fear him. Still... the man is close to one hundred."

"He is." Robb tapped on his map, feeling a wave of irritation rise up in him. "This feels too easy. All of it."

"Sometimes it is easy," Jaime said. "Sometimes people are stupid."

"So you don't get a bad feeling from...all of this?" Robb asked.

Jaime sighed, running his fingers along his golden hand. "I do. I'm just...trying to ignore it."

Robb felt like he was walking into a trap. Yet he knew that couldn't be true. He had not told anyone about his plan. Walder Frey would not expect him and most of the northern lords would not expect him to go the Twins. He fed them the false information and let them protest amongst themselves. He told no one the truth. There were a few who he was sure he could trust, of course. The Reeds. The Glovers. The Mormonts. But he could not risk anyone getting suspicious of his movements.

He watched the Bolton representative as he did, but they gave nothing away.

Soon enough, their window of opportunity was upon them. Walder Frey accepted Robb's offer of sending his mother to negotiate in exchange for a stop on all attacks until the negotiations were at their end. He did not seem to expect a trap. To him, Robb was a stupid boy sending his mother to do his work for him. Just like during the war. Robb expected that Walder Frey had a rather low opinion of his intelligence, but that was all right. He could use that.

A few days before the meeting, Jaime gave him a full report. The spies they had sent inside of the castle had bought them entrance. One of Walder Frey's grandsons, Robert Frey, was finished with his father's foolish battle and wanted his family out of the keep before things got bad. They helped to smuggle out his wife and two children. In exchange, the son would make sure the gate was unguarded at the appointed time. To ensure his loyalty, his family would be held in the Lannister camp as hostages until he delivered on the deal.

Robert Frey did not know his father's full plan or motives. He could not say what Walder Frey's end goal was or where he was keeping Bran and Arya. Walder Frey had not told most of his children his whole plan and had seemed especially on edge ever since the Lannister army's arrival. Paranoid. Desperate.

"Most of us are in the dark," Robert Frey had told the men. "Truly. This is my grandfather's game and only a few of his sons know the whole board. Most of us...most of us want this nonsense to end."

Regardless of how many Freys were guilty, Robb was ready and willing to kill any of those who stood against him. Until he had his family back, it did not matter.

The plan was set. They would move in small groups, dressed as Frey soldiers, and gather outside the back gate while Robb's mother approached the front. Then, the gate would open for them, courtesy of Robert Frey and they would enter the keep, catching the unprepared Frey soldiers by surprise. The spies would set fire to their supplies at the same time, eliminating any chance of a successful siege. Then they would find Walder Frey and force him to surrender.

It sounded straight forward on paper, but there were still many ways this could go wrong. Walder Frey could realize what was happening and kill one or both of his hostages. The Freys could see them moving and suspect treachery. Robert Frey could lose his spine and tell the plan to one of his brothers. Of course, his family was held hostage, but sometimes men said foolish things when they were nervous.

The night before the meeting, Robb spoke with his mother in his tent, reminding her once again to be careful.

"You can say it as many times as you want, Robb," she told him. "It won't make this any safer. You'll be in as much danger as me." She smiled softly. "Trust me and trust yourself. We'll get Bran and Arya back."

She spoke with such certainty that Robb almost believed it. He had to believe it.

He had to believe this would work.

That next evening as the sun was about to fall, Robb watched from a distance as his mother approached the bridge, accompanied by a small group of guards. He wanted them enter and he watched the gates close.

"It's time," Jaime murmured to his right.

"Yes," Robb placed his helmet on his head. "It's time."

* * *

The Flooded Gate was set at the base of the Western keep, named because the river flooded the stairs at its base. It was meant to allow Frey's easy access to their river boats in situations such as this. If one needed to make an escape from a dangerous siege, they could climb aboard a boat and sneak away under cover of darkness. It was less exposed than the bridge after all.

However, this gate was less guarded than the others. Archers could not see it clearly because the bridge blocked it from sight. And since it was marked by a narrow stairwell, it was easy to defend against any invaders who _did_ manage to break through the portcullis.

Fortunately for Robb, that was taken care of. There were no guards in the stairwell and they found the gate open for them. And so, two dozen men climbed easily up the stairwell and into the eastern courtyard.

It was empty besides a couple of men and they both bowed their heads at them when they arrived. Their spies. Robert Frey stood between them.

"Cleared as promised," he muttered. "One of your men set a fire on the other side of the keep. Small enough to look like an accident. I sent the guards here to help contain it."

"Well done," Jaime said. "Seems you've held up your end of the bargain. When this is over, so long as you keep your tongue and check, you and your family will be free to go."

Robert Frey exhaled and nodded. "Good. That's good."

"Where's your father right now? Where is he meeting my mother?" Robb asked.

"The Great Hall," Robert said. "There will certainly be soldiers there, but not many. He's not expecting resistance from your mother."

"What about Bran and Arya?" Robb asked. "Have you found out where they are?"

"Only the boy," Robert Frey said. "He's being kept in the west wing under strict guard. I'm not sure about the girl."

That worried Robb. Why keep them far away from each other? And wouldn't it be common knowledge in the keep where Arya was being kept?

 _Unless she's already dead,_ he thought. No. He wouldn't allow himself to think of that. No time for that now. They could find out _exactly_ where she was once they reached Walder Frey.

"All right," Robb looked to Jaime. "I'll take my men to the great hall with Robert Frey's guidance. You will find Bran and, if possible, Arya. Then meet me in the Great Hall."

"Done," Jaime nodded once. "Good luck to you Lord Stark."

"And you Lannister," Robb said.

With any luck at all, they could end this pointless conflict today. He could find out who had conspired with Lord Frey and have grounds to accuse and execute any northern traitors. Then he could go home.

They were almost at the end of this madness.

* * *

 _Earlier..._

Sansa was not content to sit still. When Robb and her mother left along with the armies a four months ago, she spent the first month playing the role she was meant to play. She and Talisa looked after Winterfell and handled the accounts which were always complicated in winter. They checked their supplies and discussed rations for the remaining winter with Maester Luwin. And of course, Sansa helped manage the children. All the while pretending that her older brother was not at war and her younger brother and sister were not hostages.

Then the letter came from Jon. It was a letter for Robb, meant to update them on the progress against Mance Rayder. The northmen were successfully holding back many of their attacks and were able to withstand a devastating blow from the rear as well. The Lord Commander had fallen in the battle, and Jon had taken to leading much of the charge. He expected they had a long conflict still ahead of them. Mance Rayder showed no sign of surrender. Not with such a massive army.

He expressed concern about Robb. Apparently, some of the men abandoned the wall because they were needed in the south. Including the Boltons.

It was that little note about House Bolton that set Sansa's mind to work. If the war down south was going badly, Robb would have sent a note to Winterfell. It was strange for the Boltons to fight at the Wall but suddenly pull back their forces, especially when they had so eagerly supported the fight against the wildlings.

 _Unless they wanted northern soldiers going north_ , she thought. Yes, that made sense. They wanted to split Robb's forces, and promised their own men to put Robb's suspicions at ease. Meanwhile, they could pull back their men once Robb was already south and prepare them...for what? An attack from the rear?

 _They must have allies, or they would not have tried this,_ Sansa thought. House Bolton was formidable but they could not fight the north on their own. They surely had other allies who were displeased with Robb.

She had to find out whom before they made their move.

Sansa sent a note back to Jon asking for details. Which northern house hadn't sent men to the wall? Which northern houses had only sent a small number? And which houses had pulled back with House Bolton? She wanted all of their names.

Soon enough, Jon replied to her letter with a list: House Dustin, and House Ryswell had sent very few men. House Bolton and House Umber had sent a great many men, but pulled several back. House Karstark, House Manderly and House Locke had sent none.

It wasn't certainty of guilt. But she could not and would not wait around to find out. She had to find some way to judge their loyalty and send word to Robb.

That next day, she called the women of Winterfell to her. Many of them had husbands fighting in the war. Several more had lost their husbands in the wars of the past.

Sansa had grown to know these women well in her past few years. She used to not pay attention to most of them, back when she was vain and thought mostly of herself. But after watching Cersei in King's Landing, she realized that she did not want to become like her-powerful but hated. She wanted to be loved, and to be loved she had to care for those around her.

She knew all of their names. She knew all of their stories. She considered them her friends. Now she could only hope that they would help her.

"I want to apologize," Sansa said. "I'm about to ask something rather dangerous of some of you. I won't force you to accept. But you would have my eternal thanks if you did."

"We're used to danger, my lady," one of the women said. Wylla was her name. "We've lived it for the past several years. We'll live it again if it helps you."

Sansa smiled sadly. "I thank you. It has come to my attention that there are traitors in the north. House Bolton is the most certain of those traitors-likely their leader. But there are others who have betrayed house Stark and sworn themselves to the flayed man. They may be plotting against us as we speak."

The women looked amongst each other. Sansa could see the concern in their eyes. And the confusion. _What are we to do about that,_ they seemed to wonder. She understood. Often, as a woman, it was easy to feel powerless in war.

"I don't want any uncertainties though. I want the names of the traitors so I can warn Robb and he can fight them before it's too late," Sansa said. "I'd like to send some of you to the suspected houses to gather information. If you can find a certain list of traitors, then Robb can deal with them before they cause trouble."

"Why ask us?" a soft voice asked. Jeyne Poole. Sansa's friend from childhood had lost her father around the same time Sansa lost hers, down south at King's Landing.

"We're women. They don't tend to notice us," Sansa said. "We can use that to our advantage."

After all, Cersei Lannister had done the same. She used women as her eyes and ears throughout King's Landing. Women who most people did not care to notice. Women who could giggle and look pretty and non-threatening. Sansa didn't want to be Cersei Lannister but that didn't mean she couldn't learn from her.

"I won't force any of you to do this," Sansa said. "But...if you're willing to go-to help my family and your husbands and sons-step forward."

Nearly everyone stepped forward. Those that didn't, Sansa offered a smile. "I understand. Go about your days." Once they had left, Sansa was left with a group of ten women. "The families I am about to name are suspected but not surely guilty: House Umber, House Dustin, House Ryswell, House Karstark, House Manderly and House Locke. Of course, House Bolton is our most major suspect, but I will not send any of you to the Dreadfort. It will be the most dangerous. It's safer to gather information from their potential allies."

"Send me to the Dreadfort m'lady," one of the women spoke up. It was Osha, lingering in the back corner, leaned up against the wall. The wildling woman had been just as restless as Sansa since Bran was taken. She was one of Bran's close companions for several years, after all, and she protected him during the Greyjoy Rebellion. "I don't fear the Boltons. I'll find out exactly what you need."

"If you're caught, you'll die," Sansa said.

"Won't be caught then," Osha said. "They don't know my face. Lord Robb had me stay hidden inside when the northmen came. I'll be a stranger to them. Besides, I've known worse than Boltons beyond the wall. I know how to make all kinds of men talk."

Sansa hesitated. Bran would not be happy if Osha died. He did enjoy the wildling woman's company. Yet she didn't think she could stop Osha either. At last, she nodded. "Be careful. They must not know that we suspect them."

Osha nodded once. "They won't."

Sansa gave assignments to the other women. She sent them places that would not know their face. She sent them in pairs in some cases, to the larger houses. She bid them return to her with whatever information they could as soon as possible.

Then, when they had left Winterfell, Sansa was made to wait again. She waited for good news. She waited for bad news. She tried to distract herself with the children and with Talisa's company. Talisa was just as worried about Robb, but they tried not to dwell on the worst possible outcomes.

The two women she sent to White Harbor returned first. They found no evidence of treachery in the Manderly house. They did not send men to the wall because they believed her brother was exaggerating the issue, and they believed the Freys were much more pressing. The woman she sent to House Dustin returned with a similar report.

But soon enough, her search began to pay off. Jeyne Poole returned with a treacherous letter written to one of the Karstarks from Roose Bolton, claiming that Robb was unfit to rule the north. Another woman returned with evidence that House Umber, divided in their support of Robb, had sent those loyal to him to the wall to fight against Mance Rayder in order to "get them out of the way". Then they left those men to fight when they pulled back their forces. And most incriminating of all, Osha returned with a list of names and an account of a dark plot.

It was Osha's account-the names of the traitors and the Bolton's true plan-which sent Sansa rushing for quill and parchment, her heart beat thundering in her ears.

She kept the note short and to the point, naming every one of the traitorous houses and her evidence. And she wrote of the treacherous plot. Then she handed the letter to a messenger and directed him to deliver it directly to Robb or her mother.

"What if they are not present?" the messenger asked.

Sansa thought for a long moment. She did not know who else they could trust in the north and she did not want to risk rousing suspicion. But she knew of one person who was invested in Arya's wellbeing, if only because of his plans.

"If you cannot find Robb or my mother...then give the letter to Tywin Lannister," Sansa said. "Jaime Lannister if you cannot find his father."

"M'lady?" the rider seemed confused.

"Trust me," Sansa said. "Just make sure one of them gets it."

The rider did not protest any longer. He set out at a full gallop from the keep and Sansa watched him go from the battlements.

She could only prey he reached Robb in time for him to act.

* * *

 _ **A/N: What did Osha find out? And what was in the letter? Find out next time! No really, all the answers will be revealed next time in a chapter that is going to be really long and is also a struggle because I haven't finished it yet and its personally trying to murder me (*picture me frantically laying the track in front of a train racing toward me*).**_

 _ **I've appreciated all of your predictions until then and yes, some of you have been correct in your guesses :) So, hope you enjoyed! Review subscribe and see you monday!**_


	41. Chapter 41: The True Enemy

_**A/N: *crawling to the finishline after just barely finishing this chapter on time* We're BACK! I promised you guys answers and here they are! Hope they satisfy everyone but I'm just glad to kick this chapter off of my to do list because it hates me lol. Anyway...enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 41: The True Enemy**

The letter arrived just before sunset, when Catelyn and Robb Stark had already put their plan into motion. Tywin waited in his tent to hear if they had succeeded or failed in their endeavor. He expected word would reach him quickly and if Robb Stark died; the northern traitors would make themselves known at once.

He tapped his fingers against the table, glancing ever so often at the broken king sitting at its edge. Walder Frey had not once mentioned Arya and it was bothering him. If he truly took her to spite him, then he should have sent word.

Unless of course she was dead and he worried about Tywin finding out.

Tywin was saved from thinking too long about that possibility when one of his guards entered his ten. "Sir...a rider from Winterfell."

"From Winterfell?" Tywin asked. "Why are they at my camp?"

"Apparently, if they could not find Lord Stark or his mother, they were told to come to you."

That was strange indeed. Who had sent this word from Winterfell? Tywin did not reply for a moment before he nodded once. "Send them in."

The rider was stiff and nervous when he entered. As if he himself did not understand his order. He clutched a letter tight in his hand. "Word from Lady Sansa. She says its urgent. And...no one could tell me where Robb Stark was so..."

Sansa Stark. Tywin had only seen her briefly when she was preparing to leave King's Landing. By all accounts-but mostly by Cersei's-she was a soft hearted, timid girl with a naïve mind. But even the most foolish northern girl would not direct a rider to him without some purpose.

"Robb Stark will return shortly. I will pass it on to him then." Tywin gestured quickly. "Give it here."

The rider obeyed and Tywin split the seal with his thumb. If it was urgent it would not be wise to wait until Robb or his mother returned. And Sansa Stark clearly had reason not to trust the northern lords if she sent the messenger to him.

He read the letter once and was amazed by what the girl had discovered. He read the letter twice and new at once that he had to act. Here she listed the traitors to the north and her evidence. Traitors who had come south with Robb, likely waiting for their opportunity to strike.

And right now...Robb Stark had ordered a cease on all attacks.

Tywin stood and snapped his fingers at his guard. "Call my generals to prepare for a fight. We need the cavalry."

The guard blinked in surprise. "But... the temporary truce-"

"-will not be honored by everyone. Go. _Now_."

The guard did not question again. He fled the tent and immediately began raising the call to arms. The messenger stood, wide eyed, in the middle of the tent, wondering what his delivery had just caused.

"Sansa Stark was right to send you here," Tywin said as he stood and armed himself. "And your lord will thank you before the night is done."

Then he swiftly exited the tent. He needed his horse.

* * *

Catelyn had learned how to carry herself through ever emotion in the world. Grief, anger, fear...a woman had no choice but to learn how to contain such feelings and keep her head held high. If she cried, she was hysterical. If she shouted, she was overreacting. If she trembled, she was weak. So from a young age, she learned to keep her chin lifted and her shoulders back. Even if she was afraid, she would never give her enemies the chance to see it.

She had called upon her strength the last time she set foot into the Great Hall of the Twins, to negotiate with a man who did not respect her. She buried down her disgust and bargained with him on Robb's behalf. At that time, she did not fear for her life. She only feared that their armies would be delayed and Tywin Lannister would have too much time to prepare for their approach.

Now...now she did fear for her life. If Walder Frey was willing to go this far, he would not hesitate to kill her. But still she steeled herself and followed his men calmly through the gates. Then through the narrow courtyard. Then into the Great hall.

Walder Frey sat in his great chair. He looked especially haggard-hunched like a gnarled old tree that had survived far too many storms. He was an ill made creature, yet somehow he had survived to be nearly one hundred. Many more good men had died in his life time, including her husband. Yet this wretched man, who had conspired to murder her son...he lived on. He lived long enough to take her children hostage.

A few of his sons stood in the room, all of them armed. One was holding Bran by the waist. He had a knife in his hand and Bran could not struggle or fight back. Her son looked at her and shook his head and Catelyn gave him a soft, encouraging smile.

 _It will be okay. If he chooses to kill one of us, I will make him choose me. But you will live._

Bran opened his mouth as if to try to say something but his captor pressed a blade to his throat and he quieted.

"So," he looked up at her past his thin hair when she stopped in front of him. "Your son sends you to bargain for him again. This is a familiar sight."

"As if my son would fool enough to come into your hall," Catleyn said. "You would have killed him."

"Maybe. But maybe I'll kill you instead. Have you thought of that?" Walder Frey asked.

"Yes."

"And you're still here."

"Yes."

"Hmm." Walder Frey scratched his head. "I was going to kill the young wolf. That was...the plan. Now I'm not sure what the plan is. I think it ends in me losing. Whether I kill you or not...I lose."

"You can surrender," Catelyn said. "Give back Bran and Arya. End this nonsense."

"I don't think...that will end well for me either," Walder Frey said. "I'll lose my head at the least. Unless you plan to send me to the wall. Don't think I'd like that."

"You'll die, yes," Catelyn said. "And what do you care? Your life has been twice that of an ordinary man. Four times that of some of the men you've sent to die for you. It's the least you can do for your family. Surrender and soften the blow."

"Soften the blow of Tywin Lannister? That's unlikely," Walder Frey said. "He was never soft once in his life. I remember him...ten years old and he looked down his nose at me like I was nothing. Never saw a boy born so proud-especially from such a weak willed father. Amazing that he deigned to look to me for help at all when your boy went to war with him. Because it was convenient. He'll use even his worst enemies when it's convenient." His laugh sounded more like a cough. "See? He's working with Starks now."

Catelyn studied him carefully. She had never seen Walder Frey so unhinged. Perhaps he really was going senile. Perhaps he did not expect Tywin Lannister to come in such force. But then why send Arya's fingers to him? He must have known that such a challenge would be re-payed. "Lord Walder," she said at last. "If you know...that it is hopeless, then why delay the inevitable? The longer you wait, the more your family suffers. End this now."

"I could do that," Lord Walder said. "Or I could...take as many of you fucking Starks with me as possible." He glanced at Bran. "What would Robb Stark do then?"

Catelyn took a step forward, opening her mouth to protest. Then the eastside door slammed open and one of Walder Frey's sons scrambled inside. "Fire. There's a fire."

"A fire?" Walder Frey blinked. "Well what are you bothering me for? Put it out and be done with it."

"It hit our supply stores," the son said. "I think...it must be some sort of attack. We won't be able to keep up the siege if-"

"We're already _losing_ you fool. The supplies only delay it all," Walder looked to Catelyn again. "Of course...it is an interesting thought. What if the honorable Starks agreed to negotiate peace and then broke that agreement." He laughed again. "Wouldn't be the first broken vow, I suppose. Still. I thought you lot were supposed to be honorable. But the north is so full of dishonor these days."

"Don't speak to me of honor," Catelyn said. "You have forsaken your vow to my family. You have forsaken the laws of man. You would have killed my son even if he came under a banner of peace. I'm not sure there is a man in the world less honorable than you."

Walder shook his head. "Are you sure about that Lady Stark? Because I think...the Boltons might surprise you."

Again the door slammed open, this time from behind Catelyn. She heard the sound of throats slit and men screaming in pain. She let out a breath as Robb strode through the door. Two soldiers on either side of him had arrows drawn, and aimed at Walder Frey.

"Lord Frey," he said flatly. "I came to negotiate for peace."

"Be careful," Catelyn said. "He has Bran."

Robb glanced to the side and noticed Bran held tight in the grip of one of Walder's sons. "Order your son to drop my brother. Now."

"What if I do?" Walder Frey asked. "What will it earn me? Not my life."

"No," Robb said. "But the lives of some of your family. If you care about any of them, that is." He kept his bow steady. "If you don't release Bran and Arya, I'll kill ever man in this bloody castle."

"You keep asking for two," Walder murmured. "Two captives."

"Yes," Catelyn said. "You took Bran and Arya from Winterfell."

"Did I?" Walder tapped his long nails against the edge of his chair. "I only see the boy here."

"Then order your son to drop him. Now. I won't ask again."

"Robb," Bran choked out.

His captor hissed and shook him. "Shut up. Don't speak."

Catelyn's brow furrowed. Why were they so concerned with keeping Bran quiet?

"There's something funny about you being here, Lord Stark," Walder Frey continued. "Do you know what it is?"

"Enlighten me," Robb said.

"You're cheating your traitors out of their prize," Walder Frey. "You should take a look...over the wall."

Robb's eyes narrowed but he did not waver. "Lord Frey. Last chance."

Walder Frey smiled. "You're right. It is my last chance. At least I can kill one Stark." He glanced at his son. Catelyn felt herself go cold with panic and she stepped forward.

" _No!"_

A sword tip broke through the Frey son's mouth and he shuddered, releasing Bran, who crumbled to the ground, gasping. Alive. He was still alive.

"That was lucky," Jaime Lannister said from behind the now dead man. "I figured they might have brought the boy here. I see I was right."

Catelyn released a breath, almost losing her feet from the relief. She hurried to Bran who was trying to right himself on the floor. There was a shallow cut on his neck but nothing serious.

"Did they cut him?" Robb asked.

"Only a bit," Catelyn said. "It's barely bleeding." Catelyn drew Bran into her arms. "Oh, Bran. I'm so sorry."

Robb glanced at Jaime. "He could have cut Bran's throat as he fell."

"But he didn't," Jaime said. "You have a strange way of saying 'thank you' in the north."

"Thank you, ser" Catelyn said. "Truly."

Jaime's expression sobered and he nodded once. "You're welcome." He glanced down at Bran, a rather strange look on his face. "You're all right, boy?"

Bran pulled back from Catelyn, nodding once. "I'm fine. Thank you, ser."

Jaime's jaw seemed to clench for a moment. Then he nodded and strode toward Walder Frey. "So...Lord Frey. I am awfully interested to know what your end goal was here. Because every way I put it together, you seem completely mad."

"It wasn't really my plan. Not in the end," Walder Frey looked up at them.

"Really? One of your sons take over the show?" Jaime nodded at the corpse of the man he had just stabbed. "Was it that one? I hope so."

"Like I told Lord Stark," Walder Frey rasped out another one of his horrid laughs. "You ought to look over the wall."

The door burst open and one of Robb's men entered, looking breathless. "We've...secured the castle. The Frey's surrendered."

"That's good news," Robb said.

"But his expression does not match it," Jaime said. "What happened?"

The messenger shook his head. "The...the northern camp. You should...just come and see."

Robb and Jaime glanced at each other, then hurried from the room. Catelyn wanted to go after them but she had to see to Bran.

"Mother," Bran said. "Arya..."

"Yes, where is she?" Catelyn asked. "We'll find her and bring her home."

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Bran said. "Arya's not here."

Slowly, Catelyn let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes.

No...Of course it could not be over so easily.

* * *

 _Look over the wall,_ Walder Frey had said. _You ought to look over the wall._

He had said many things that didn't quite make sense. It seemed like the ramblings of a mad man.

Looking over the wall...Robb felt as if he might be going mad as well. There was fire in the northern camp and soldiers clashing. Not Frey soldiers though. Northmen. Northmen fighting each other.

"Seven hells," Jaime muttered under his breath, which did not begin to cover the situation.

 _It wasn't really my plan,_ Walder Frey had said. _Not in the end._

No. Robb was beginning to believe him. He had delivered the same message to almost all of his men. That they would negotiate peace with Walder Frey and until negotiations were complete, they would cease attacks. And in those moments of peace, the traitors had taken up their swords to slaughter those loyal to House Stark.

From this distance, he could make out the place where he kept his tent. It was burning and bodies were strewn about. They had meant for him to be there that night. They would have if he had not insisted on coming here. The thought left Robb frozen.

But the moment was brief. There was no time to pause. He gripped his blade tight in his hand. "Gather your men, Ser Jaime. And escort my mother and brother to the Lannister camp."

"And you?" Jaime asked.

Robb barred his teeth slightly as he replied. "I'm going to handle the traitors."

* * *

There were already so many northern dead when Robb arrived to the camp. His own men had taken an especially hard blow as they had tried to guard Robb's tent, now crumpled to ash. He swayed on the spot, his grip clenching on the hilt of his sword.

"Lord Stark!"

Robb turned to see Lord Glover stumbling toward him, a gash over his eye. Robb's men closed around him but Robb held up his hand to keep them from attacking.

"Lord Glover. What happened?"

"Good question. It happened so quickly," Glover said. "Suddenly...there were Boltons attacking us. And some others I think. In the dark, I couldn't tell. Came to find you as soon as I escaped."

"I was away during the beginning of the attack. Rescuing Bran from the Twins," Robb said. "I'm sorry I did not tell you. We've suspected Walder Frey had spies in our camp. I couldn't take chances."

"Spies? More like allies," Lord Glover said. "The camp is in chaos. As if half of it suddenly...turned on us. But we weren't prepared for an attack tonight, and its too dark to see most of the culprits."

"That's why they attacked," Robb muttered. His head spun. He Robb had suspected all along that the northern traitors might be connected to the Freys, and it was a good thing he had not told anyone of his plan. They attacked to tonight because they thought they could surprise and kill him. Several of his men had suffered the consequences.

Another soldier came coughing out of the smoke. Robb did not know which house this one belonged to. His eyes widened when he saw Robb. "My lord! You're all right...we saw your tent and thought..."

"You thought wrong," Robb said. "We need to gather the soldiers we can and make a perimeter. Elsewise the traitors will try to escape north again."

"I'm not sure you'll be able to gather enough for a perimeter," Lord Glover said. "Or organize our soldiers. We should try to capture as many of the traitors as we can and interrogate them for information."

Robb nodded once. It was foolishness to try to rally his men in such chaos. He did not know who he could trust in this crowd anyway. "We should make for the northern edge then. See who we can catch running."

The men nodded and fell into step behind him. To his left and just behind him, Robb heard the scrape of a sword. He turned in time to see the newest soldier looking at him with cold eyes, preparing to strike. And he turned in time to see the man thrown to the ground by a massive wall of fur.

Greywind was upon the man before he could even think of attacking, ripping through his throat. Blood stained his maw and fur. He had taken an arrow to the shoulder but he was still standing. Still fighting.

At least he had one friend he could always trust.

"Seven hells," Lord Glover cursed.

Robb swallowed hard as he turned away from the dead men. "Stay in close. And if any of you try to betray me...you'll meet the same fate."

They ran along the edge of camp with all haste toward the northern side. When they reached their destination, Robb saw that a few men had already begun to run. He watched them disappear through the tree line on horseback. If he had a horse he might have chased them down himself.

"Orders, my lord?" Lord Glover asked. He had rallied some of his own men on their way. Robb could only pray they were not traitors as well.

"Spread out evenly and catch who you can," Robb said. "Find out what house they serve. Then-" He cut off at a sound. The sound of hoof beats.

He turned to see a line of cavalry approaching, carrying the Lannister banners high above them. For a moment, Robb got an awful feeling that they were here to help the traitors-and that all of this time Tywin Lannister had been playing him for a fool.

But instead, they formed a barrier at the northern edge of the camp, lowering pikes to keep anyone from running. A few men skidded to the stop at the sight and backed quickly away.

"Fuck me," Glover muttered. "A trap?"

"No..." Robb said. "If they meant to kill us, they could cut through the camp right now and kill every northerner they see. Instead they're just blocking everyone in. Including the traitors."

"Why?" Glover asked. "And how could they even know what's happening?"

Robb did not have an answer to that question. But he imagined he'd get one soon as he saw Tywin Lannister riding toward him.

"You've survived," he said.

"I have," Robb said.

"I noticed you had a problem in your camp," Tywin nodded at the line of cavalry. "This should give you a chance to handle it."

It would. Already, at the sight of the Lannister army, the fighting had begun to die as everyone realized that they weren't going anywhere.

"It will," Robb said at last. "Lord Glover...will you assist me in calling my bannermen? We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

In one of the only large tents left unburnt, Robb stood, facing his bannermen. None would admit readily to being traitors if he accused them. They would all insist it was someone else. They would say their men turned against them. They would accuse each other until the entire north fell apart. He trusted Lord Glover, at least, though tentatively. For all he knew the man could be waiting to play his cards.

 _I hate this,_ he thought. _I hate not knowing._

"It seems some of you conspired to kill me tonight," Robb said. "Since you failed...I can ask who's to blame."

"I saw a Karstark cut through our men," Lord Reed replied.

"A lie," Karstark said. "We were defending ourselves against the Reeds. They are the traitors."

"The Reeds would never betray the Starks," Glover fired back. "The Karstarks have been against Robb ever since the war."

"The Lannisters are to blame," spat an Umber. "They put spies in our midst while you've been playing allies with them. They can't be trusted."

"I'm not the one who can't be trusted," Tywin Lannister's voice came flatly from the entrance of the tent.

All of the northern lords were startled into silence to see him. They had been arguing openly about him for so long, but they never expected him to arrive in their camp. Robb was surprised to see him as well. He had thought Tywin intended to let him deal with the northern lords alone. It was a test of sorts.

"You're not welcome here," the Umber muttered in reply.

"I wouldn't expect to be," Tywin held up a piece of parchment. "But I have a letter that was meant for Lord Stark. I think he'll want to read it."

Robb's brow furrowed as he studied Lord Tywin. Then he accepted the parchment.

This was Sansa's handwriting. He recognized the pretty slope of the letters immediately. But its contents especially...those were what interested him.

For a long time he did not speak. Then he lifted his head and looked out coldly at the northern lords. "My sister, it seems, has discovered traitors among you. Families that did not send men to the wall but did not send their full forces to me. And families that sent men to the wall...but pulled them back after I was gone."

"How could the Lady Sansa discover such a thing?" a Karstark asked. "This is clearly a forgery."

"I have the messenger who brought it. He would gladly tell you otherwise," Tywin said.

"It's not a forgery. I know my sister's writing. Lord Tywin does not," Robb said. "But I understand why you would hope for a fake, Karstark. She did name your family after all. House Karstark, House Locke and House Rysewell the Umbers who are not still at the wall. And the Boltons. You have all betrayed your liege lord and House Stark. You betrayed your countrymen. And for that you will be tried and executed."

The effect on the room was palpable. The traitors saw themselves caught in a trap, and those loyal to Robb were overcome with fury. A few Karstarks tried to back away but Glover blocked them and punched one hard in the face. Lord Rysewell protested.

"You trust the word of one girl? This is _madness_."

"I trust my sister more than you," Robb said. "Seize him. Any of you still loyal to House Stark-bind the traitors and guard them carefully. Their men who tried to kill you-pay them back for that."

The loyal families were quick to follow the order and the traitors were-thankfully-outnumbered. Robb had begun to wonder if the whole of his camp was against him. At least...that wasn't the case.

"You read the remainder of the letter, I trust," Tywin said as the traitors were dragged from the tent.

"Yes," Robb's hand clenched on the parchment, threatening to tear through it. "I did. I need to go north as soon as possible."

Everything had clicked into place when he read the letter. The stupidity of Walder Frey sending Lord Tywin the fingers. The confusion when they asked the Frey men about Arya's location. They didn't know, because they hadn't sent the fingers. They had been framed. They had been thrown to the lions and wolves while the true enemy watched from a distance and gathered their forces. Even if they found the traitors here, it wasn't enough. The majority of the Bolton army, the Umber army, the Karstarks...they were north. And they were not weary from four months of siege.

When Robb road with his loyal followers to meet them...it might not be enough.

This mess had been everything the Boltons wanted and more. The Northern army was splintered, the Riverlands once again in ruins.

And the Boltons had Arya.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So there you go. Arya is with the Boltons! Many of you guessed this by a few chapters ago. Just as many of you said that you hoped you were wrong. You were not :)**_

 _ **The next few chapters, on the other hand, are exclusively Arya focused! Isn't everyone excited? I know I am :D**_

 _ **As always, review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	42. Chapter 42: Exposed

_**A/N: Alrighty, who's ready for the hell arc to really earn its name? The first part of the arc is hell because its hard to write. The second part is just gonna be hell for all of you :) Cause you guys get to deal with me writing Ramsay~~**_

 _ **In all serious though, trigger warning for Ramsay being Ramsay. Though I WILL say that there is not going to be rape in this fic, for those of you particularly triggered by that. I don't like writing rape so that's that on that. But this part of the arc is gonna have some psychological torture. Especially in the next chapter. So, fair warning for that. I assume that you in the Game of Thrones fandom are gluttons for punishment and pain like me.**_

 _ **Song of the week is 'Run, Run Rebel' by Hidden Citizens which defs fits this fic overall. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 42: Exposed**

 _Four months earlier..._

The pain was excruciating. One moment, Arya could feel the rough wood of the table between the tips of five fingers. The next, only three. The knife severed the smallest fingers completely, leaving bloody, jagged protrusions of bone behind. If Arya had eaten in the last day, she might have vomited. Instead she gagged up air and gritted her teeth against the pain.

They had done the same to Bran only moments ago. Arya had fought against her captors as her brother pleaded for mercy. His scream hurt her almost as much as the knife had.

"Mercy? I am showing you mercy," the Bastard of Bolton snickered. "It's just the little fingers. You can write well enough your other three, can't you?" He glanced at Arya. "Not sure well you'll be able to wield a knife though."

He had removed her fingers right after he said that. Arya refused to scream. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard it bled and tears burned at her eyes. But she did not scream.

 _I will not give him the satisfaction._

He had liked that. The fact that she didn't cry out. His smile stretched wide as he knelt down to her eye level. "You are a little wolf, aren't you? You bare your teeth and snarl when you're in pain. What would it take to make you scream, I wonder?"

She glared right back at him. Even as blood poured from her hand, there was some victory here. He did not know she was left handed. No one ever went for her left side.

Ramsay Bolton turned to some of his men. "I need two letters. One for the boy's fingers and one for the girl's. Then we'll make arrangements to send Bran Stark south to the Freys."

"I thought your father meant to keep the boy and hand over the girl," the man replied.

"He did," Ramsay agreed. "But the situation has changed. It won't matter either way. Robb Stark will think that both of his siblings are at the Twins."

Arya met Bran's eyes, panic spreading through her. They meant to separate them. Arya could not protect her little brother if they were separated. What would Walder Frey do to him?

It had been some time since Arya had felt so helpless. Not since Lord Tywin first took her prisoner. And even then, she knew that he would not harm her without a purpose.

Ramsay Bolton was not Tywin Lannister. Already he had taken her fingers and he would take more if he got the chance. There was chaos in his smile and delight in his eyes when he caused pain. Like Joffrey perhaps. But more measured. More intelligent than that.

She feared him and she hated it. She wanted to tear his smile away with her teeth.

She watched as he took her fingers from the table and dropped them into an envelope. Then he gave them to one of his men. "See that these are delivered. Not by raven. Rider. I don't want these lost in route to their recipients." He snapped his fingers at another man. "And you. Take the boy and transport him south in a barrel. Make sure no one sees him. And make sure doesn't make a sound." Ramsay passed near Bran and ruffled his hair. "Take another finger if he screams."

Arya struggled against her captor again. Damn them. She would kill them all.

"Oh...and if you're caught in route, you say that Walder Frey sent you," Ramsay added. "If you mention the name Bolton, I'll kill everyone who has ever spoken to you."

 _He wants to blame Frey for this,_ Arya thought. _The Freys may be working with them, but the Boltons owe them no loyalty. What is his play here?_

She didn't know. She could not begin to know what he had planned, but she was beginning to see his motives. He had showed support of Jon's plan so that the northern army would be divided. She doubted they intended to go to the wall, or if they did it would not be for very long. They only wanted to make sure loyal houses sent their soldiers away.

Robb was in danger. Her whole family was in danger and she was stuck here, another hostage. She was short on weapons and two of her fingers and she couldn't do a damn thing.

The man charged with delivering Bran to the Frey's began to pick him up and carry him away. Bran could do nothing to fight back but squirm weakly. Arya gritted her teeth together. The man behind her had stopped pushing so hard on her back. And his foot...

She jammed her heel back onto his toe, before throwing herself to the side. She slipped from beneath the man's grasp and hit the ground rolling. Then she ran for Bran.

 _He_ moved in front of Arya before she could reach her brother. Ramsay. He slid into her path-a shadow with a freshly cleaned knife. Arya hissed and side stepped just in time to avoid his blade. It sliced so close, she was sure he'd cut off a strand of her hair.

"You _do_ have good reflexes," Ramsay cooed. His voice sent a shiver of revulsion through her. "Good instincts. Not just a wolf in name, are you?"

"Arya!" Bran called out to her as the door to the hall began to close. Arya looked past Ramsay for a split second, trying to get a glimpse of her brother again. Wanting to reassure him that things would be okay.

"Don't ignore me."

Arya ducked narrowly as Ramsay's blade cut a wide arc just above her head. She took a deep breath and found her footing again, retreating quickly from his attacks. But he was quick too. He kept advancing on her with his blade, stabbing and slashing in quick succession. Each time, she only narrowly dodged. But he was driving her backward and she did not have a weapon. Not to mention her hand was throbbing with pain and the blood loss was beginning to make her dizzy.

 _Fuck. I can't keep this up for long._ His knife whistled past her right shoulder. _I can't...I can't see straight._

Her back hit a wall and Ramsay's grinned. "Bad luck, little wolf."

Her eyes widened as he flipped the blade in his hand. _I'm going to die._

"Ramsay."

The Bolton bastard's blade buried itself in the wall right next to Arya's face. If she only turned slightly to the side, she could see her reflection there. But she did not turn. She glared straight ahead into Ramsay Bolton's eyes.

He grinned at her, then slowly withdrew. "Yes, father?"

Arya glanced to the side to see Roose Bolton had entered the room, looking rather irritated. She could see the resemblance between the father and son. Roose Bolton carried himself with an air of dignity and calm, but his eyes still spoke of cruelty. He had just learned to control it. Ramsay let his malice spill out from his smile and eyes, like an overflowing cup.

 _I am in a very dangerous place,_ Arya thought.

"I saw you decided to send Bran Stark to Walder Frey instead of Arya. Why is that?"

"I don't think Walder Frey can handle much more than a crippled hostage," Ramsay said. "This one has more bite than her little brother. Lord Walder won't be able to keep her caged properly."

Arya gritted her teeth together. Ramsay had only been toying with her...testing her skills. And now he had a good idea of what she could do. Now that he knew she was dangerous, her element of surprise was lost. Fuck, this was bad.

"Whether he can keep her caged isn't my worry," Roose said. "Do you want Tywin Lannister turning his eyes on us? Truly?"

"It won't be a problem," Ramsay said. "He'll be focused on the Freys long before he realizes that we have Arya. I've already sent the letters ahead. As far as he knows, Walder Frey has two hostages and we have none at all."

"Yes, and when he inevitably breaks the Twins, he will realize the truth," Roose said. "That was the purpose of sending Arya Stark to the Freys. With his ward back in hand, Lord Tywin would have little reason to help the Starks deal with us. Do you really think I want to invoke the full wrath of the Lannisters and the Starks combined? Are you a complete fool?"

Ramsay almost seemed to flinch at these words. And the hate burned brighter in his eyes. "Tywin Lannister will find out that we worked with the Freys. And that we helped to capture his ward. You say that she has his favor? Then she's the best hostage we can have. If Tywin Lannister rides north, we need someone he actually likes at the knife point. Besides, he can't like her all that much. A man of his reputation?"

"That's a dangerous gamble, Ramsay."

"Dangerous gambles win wars," Ramsay retorted. "We can afford to be reckless. Besides, Especially with that lucky problem at the wall coming to sweep away half of the northern soldiers. They'll be weak."

"You assume your opponent's weakness. It weakens you in the process. It would do you well to be afraid of someone every once and awhile," Roose said coldly. "No matter. We'll keep the girl. But you won't take any more of her fingers. We need her unharmed for when the armies come marching for us."

Arya's left hand clenched into a fist as Ramsay looked back at her. "Seems you get to stay with us, little wolf."

"Burn in hell," Arya replied.

Ramsay laughed. "She doesn't speak like a lady does she? Or fight like one. Like I said...she's much more like an animal than a girl."

"And you're more like a rabid dog than a man," Roose said. "I'm serious, Ramsay. Do not harm her until we have more clarity about the future. You ought to apply a little self-control just this once."

Ramsay frowned, spinning his knife in his hand and returning it to his sheath. The idea of self control seemed to personally offend him. "Yes, father. As you say."

"Exactly what are you planning to do?" Arya asked. "The Bolton army isn't strong enough to stand against the whole north and the Lannisters and their allies. You think one hostage will really keep you safe?"

"One hostage can make a great deal of a difference. You should know that," Roose Bolton said. "Didn't your brother surrender his crown for you, Lady Arya?"

Arya swallowed a lump in her throat. Yes. He had.

"Besides. It won't be the whole north," Roose said. "Half of the north has gone to the wall to defend against the wildlings. Ramsay and your bastard brother did quite a good job of convincing them. And the other half of the north will leave to deal with the Freys in a few days' time. They'll wear themselves out at the siege, and give us time to prepare here. Then they will lose most of their men there when the Umbers, Rysewells, Lockes and the Karstarks turn against your brother. When the moment is right. If we're lucky, Robb Stark will die before he ever returns north."

Arya felt her blood turn to ice. Seven hells...this wasn't some stupid gambit for the north. This was a carefully planned strategy. And it wasn't just the Boltons who had turned against her brother. The Karstarks, who had lost their patriarch to Robb's blade years ago during the war. And the Umbers, one of the largest house in the north, who had been furious when Robb bent the knee. They planned to take control of the north themselves. And Robb would have his eyes squarely fixed on the Freys.

"Why?" she asked at last. "You fought with my father. The Boltons have served the Starks for one thousand years. Why do you turn against us now?"

"Because your brother is weak. He broke a vow for a love marriage and he bent the knee to the south for the life of a little girl," Roose Bolton said. "The north needs strong leadership."

"And if you've read any book about the north at all, you'll know the Boltons have a long history of fighting the Starks," Ramsay said, pacing toward the windows on the right side of the hall. Light was filtering through the windows, reflecting off the blade of his knife. Was it sunrise or sunset? Arya could not tell. "The Red Kings of old would be quite happy with us."

"But my father-" Arya started.

"To be entirely honest...your father was not strong either," Roose said. "I've been thinking for some time that perhaps the Starks do not deserve to be wardens of the north. House Bolton is just as ancient a family. There's no real reason...that the Boltons should not take power again in the face of Stark weakness."

"My brother is not weak," Arya muttered. "He is stronger than both of you combined. And my family will rip yours apart."

"A very scary thought," Ramsay grinned. "But, disassembling enemies is really more a Bolton specialty, little wolf."

"Really? Have you seen what wolves do to dogs?" Arya asked through gritted teeth.

Ramsay's eyes narrowed and his grip seemed to tighten on his knife again. How she wished she had a knife of her own.

"The Starks would already be destroyed if Lord Tywin did not find you," Roose said before Ramsay could make a retort. "You've only delayed the inevitable."

"What are you talking about?" Arya's eyes narrowed.

"If Tywin Lannister hadn't used you to force peace, he would have ended the war some other way," Roose said. "He was writing to us. And to the Freys. Lord Walder planned to host a wedding at the Twins and offer his support to Robb. Then...with your brother's mind at ease...we would have killed him, and all of his men. Lord Tywin promised us the north and the Riverlands for our efforts."

"A wedding?" Arya almost whispered the words. To kill someone in such a manner went against every single law of the gods. But of course...Lord Tywin had never cared much about that. She remembered...years ago...he had mentioned he had another way to end this war. He told her about it in his tent a few days before he dangled her in front of Robb.

" _You may be the difference between your brother choosing the right path or the wrong one. I promise you...if he rejects my offer, he and your mother will die. It won't be clean. It won't be honorable. But it will end the war, and that's all I care about right now."_

Of course, Robb had accepted the terms of surrender. And in doing so, Tywin had cast aside the Boltons and the Freys. Pawns he no longer needed. But the pawns had not gone away. This was not a game of Cyvasse, after all. Instead the fallen pieces plotted with each other and decided to make themselves into kings.

"Not that it matters now," Roose Bolton said. "That path is lost. But the Boltons will have the north again, with or without the Lannister's help. And you'll help us to get it." He regarded her with a stony expression. "You should be accustomed to this by now. Being used to win wars."

Arya's lip curled. She wanted to lunge at him. But she was unarmed, and she could barely keep her feet because of the lost blood. This was not the time to fight. Not the time to play the few remaining cards she had. She'd already revealed her speed and reflexes to Ramsay. She could not reveal anything else.

Roose Bolton snapped his fingers at two guards standing at the edge of the room. "Escort Lady Arya to her chambers and see to her fingers. Make sure the room is stripped of all possible weapons and post two guards at the door at all times. If news of her being here leaves this keep, I will have your tongues ripped out and stuffed down your throat before I flay you alive. And if we return from the wall in a month's time and find her gone? Your punishment will be worse."

The guards nodded once and moved toward Arya, taking her by the arms.

"Must we still go to the wall?" she heard Ramsay ask as she was dragged away. "Seems a good way to lose valuable men."

"Not going is a good way to rouse suspicions," Roose said. "Try not to let a wildling shoot you down."

 _I hope the wildlings shoot all of you down,_ Arya thought. She let out a shaky breath, trying to keep focus as the guards led her from the room and down the hall. But no matter how she concentrated she could not see a way out of this.

Once again, she was being used against her family. A hostage. A pawn in someone else's game.

A wolf locked in a cage.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So...I didn't plan this but somehow the very worst of the psychological torture is coming out on Christmas Eve so...Happy Holidays? Sorry I can't give you any joy? But then again, I had to get inside Ramsay's head to write him, so I think we're all suffering at least a little bit.**_

 _ **Unfortunately for Arya, the Boltons actually are not underestimating her, which could defs be a problem. We'll see how it all goes down next time. Hope you enjoyed! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next week!**_


	43. Chapter 43: Fear and Hatred

_**A/N: Merry Christmas one and all! Or if you don't celebrate Christmas: happy December 24th! This holiday season I am bringing you the warm joy of over 4,000 words of Ramsay being awful. And god, I even had to write from his perspective once, so if you guys were concerned about me after writing from Cersei's perspective? Well you're in for a TREAT here!**_

 _ **Tis the lowest point chapter, so I'll let it speak for itself. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 43: Fear and Hatred**

Arya's captors were smart. They had heard enough rumors about her and seen the knife she carried. They knew not to give her anything to work with. So her room at the Dreadfort was stripped bare. All he had was a bed, a desk and an empty shelf. Not a single sharp object in sight. Not even a stray sewing needle or a loose nail.

She had only a single, narrow window, too small to possibly use as an escape. Through that window, she could watch the light change and count the days passing. The rise and fall of the sun was all that changed in that tiny room for the first month. Occasionally, a guard came to bring her food. But they gave her no utensils that she could use against them. And they always entered prepared for an attack. All of her guards had been informed that she was not some docile lady.

One of Arya's greatest advantages had always been her unassuming appearance. Jaime had mentioned as much to Brienne, and he was completely right. People had been underestimating her all her life, even when she wanted to be taken seriously. That gave her the element of surprise. It was surprise that allowed her to protect Tommen, to kill those assassins, to draw a confession from Littlefinger. It was surprise that had kept her alive for this long.

The Boltons did not intend to let her surprise them. They were treating her as a serious threat and that gave her very few opportunities for escape.

She had always wanted people to take her seriously...but this was the very worst time for it to happen.

For the first month, Arya was totally isolated. She saw only the guards who brought her food at unpredictable times. It was maddening to be left alone with nothing but her thoughts for company.

And then Ramsay Bolton came to visit.

She had already eaten dinner, so she knew something was off when she heard the lock rattling. At first, she worried it might be a guard eager to take liberties with a hostage. She stood to meet the guest before they even opened the door, placing herself in the center of the room, ready to defend if they came at her.

Ramsay Bolton stepped through the door, smirking. "Were you waiting for me, little wolf?"

Arya's eyes narrowed. She would have preferred a guard. Then, at least, she could catch them by surprise. But not this man. "I was waiting for trouble. It just happens to be wearing your face. What are you doing here?"

"I'm back from the Wall. Perhaps I came to see how you are adjusting," Ramsay said.

"That would be considerate of you...if it were true," Arya said. "Except for you're in the midst of planning a rebellion. I doubt you would come for something so trivial."

Ramsay laughed once. "Well, even in the midst of a war, one does need to take time for amusements." He tilted his head to the side, studying her. "And you are very amusing."

Arya clenched her jaw. "Am I?"

"Yes. You're such a curiosity, little wolf," Ramsay said. "Your reflexes, for instance. You've clearly trained regularly. As a hostage of the Lannisters, I wonder how you gained permission for that."

"I didn't need permission," Arya said.

"Yes you did. It would have been easy enough to stop you," Ramsay said. "For instance...right now, you do not have permission. So you can't practice."

Arya's eyes narrowed. Technically, he was right. She didn't have a weapon and this space was too small for her to really practice footwork. She could keep herself strong and flexible, but little else.

"It frustrates you, I'm sure. Wolves don't like to be in cages," Ramsay said. "But if you'd like to practice... I can oblige."

Arya saw the knife a second before he stabbed out at her. She barely redirected the blow, slamming into the corner of the desk as she did. He laughed once.

"Oh dear. Hard to dodge in close quarters like this, isn't it?" His eyes seemed to glow with delight. "I can't imagine you practiced much in tight spaces. It's much more ideal for the attacker than the defender."

"Then give me a weapon, coward," Arya snapped.

"No," Ramsay replied, striking out at her again. She leapt backward onto the bed, but he didn't give her much time to find her footing. He rushed forward, his blade flashing in the light. She hopped to the table, trying to get around him and avoid being cornered. But this room had no safe places. Everywhere she turned, she found a new corner.

When she tried to slip around Ramsay again, he seized her collar and shoved her hard against the wall. Her head knocked against the stone and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself focused.

"I think we've found a gap in your training," Ramsay said.

Arya hissed and kicked out at his legs. He dug his knife into her right shoulder in response. Pain blossomed through her arm and Arya gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.

"You're not much of a howler, are you?" Ramsay asked. "I've heard animals make all sorts of sounds when their cornered and in pain. Humans too. It all blends together. In the moments before death, humans are just animals, desperate to survive." He twisted the knife slightly and black spots flashed across Arya's vision. Fuck it hurt. "Desperate animals are the most dangerous. Because they'll do anything. I've seen wolves chew off their legs to escape a trap." Ramsay tilted his head to the side. "What will you do...little wolf?"

Arya growled and head butted him as hard as she could. Her vision flashed white at the impact but it surprised him enough to force him back. It satisfied her to see the blood streaming from his nose.

And yet he still smiled. Arya realized now what his eyes reminded her of. She used to spend a great deal of time studying cats at Syrio's request. Sometimes, after they cornered a mouse, they toyed with it for a while. They had the little creature in their grasp. All they had to do was bite down. But instead they batted at it, wore it down, let it escape a little before pulling it back. And all the while they watched with wide, curious eyes.

Ramsay was exactly like one of those cats, and she wished she could dig his eyes out of his skull with his own knives.

"You look so serious, little wolf," he cooed. "Don't worry so much. I won't kill you. I won't even hurt you too badly. Because you don't fear death like most. Or pain. What you fear is a cage. So all I really have to do to torment you...is keep you here." He shrugged. "Besides, we need you alive to use against Tywin Lannister."

Tywin Lannister. Even when he was hundreds of miles away, he still had a hand in her life. It was his supposed favor that kept Ramsay from digging his knife somewhere more important. His favor was why they bothered to keep her captive at all. A second daughter of a noble house wasn't that valuable a captive. But a girl in the favor of the head of the Lannister house? That made her very important indeed.

Arya's element of surprise had saved her life in many situations. But it was Tywin Lannister who had actually kept her alive thus far. It had kept the soldiers away from her in the camp. It had kept Joffrey from openly setting his guards on her. It had kept Cersei from immediately making a play for her life. And now it kept Ramsay Bolton's blade from her throat.

What a horrid realization that was. Arya had done everything she could to grow stronger, but she had only ever gotten the chance to hold a sword because Lord Tywin had allowed it. He could have stopped her practices in an instant. He could have exposed her for killing Joffrey. He held her life in his hand, like a piece in a game of Cyvasse.

She had always known that in the back of her mind, of course. That was half the reason she saved his life in return. To save her brother but also to protect herself from Joffrey. Without Tywin Lannister, she was nothing in the red keep. A second daughter. A mere hostage.

People didn't treat her well because they feared or respected her. They treated her well because they feared and respected Tywin.

 _Have I always been so powerless?_ Arya thought. _Has my fate always been in someone else's hands?_

 _Have I really gotten any stronger?_

These questions tormented her constantly. They were perhaps the worst thing about being trapped in that room.

But then again...Ramsay existed.

He kept coming back to visit her, and she had no way to predict his movements. Sometimes he disappeared for a week at a time. Sometimes he visited every day for three days in a row. Sometimes he even came back twice in one day, but that was rare. Whatever the case, his visits left her paranoid. When she heard the keys jingling, she always had to wonder...was it food, or him? Or both. Sometimes it was both.

She learned to hate the sound of keys because that meant Ramsay and his smile and his laugh and his knife against which she could not defend.

He was true to his word, of course. He never damaged her beyond repair. But he did leave little scars behind. Some on her skin. Some on her mind.

Sometimes he came to give her "practice". He swung his knife around and forced her to dance around it until he cornered her and left a new wound on one of her arms. But sometime he just came to talk for a short while...to ask her questions. She never knew which it would be, so she found herself ever tense around him, a cornered animal just as he said.

" _Always on guard, aren't you? I'm only here to talk...why so nervous?"_

Once he came in the middle of the night while she was sleeping. She woke up to his blade at her throat and his hand over her mouth.

" _You think you're safe in sleep...little wolf?"_ he had purred in her ear. _"Monsters love the nighttime."_

She jolted up, flailing her arms to knock his blade away. She cut her arm in the process and he laughed at that.

" _Now you're just making yourself bleed. You ought to settle down."_

She did not fall asleep after he left, and for days after the smallest sound could startle her awake.

One time, he visited with a strangely somber look on his face. "Lady Arya...has anyone told you the news yet?"

"What news?" Arya asked suspiciously.

"Oh, no one has? I apologize. I hate to tell you this myself," Ramsay said. "We received word from the Riverlands today."

Arya's insides went cold. The Riverlands. The siege. So many of her family was there. Which one had died? Who had joined her father and Rickon in the ground?

"I'm not sure how to put this. But...your brother..."

Which one? Robb or Bran? Which one was he talking about? Ramsay let a long silence hang in the air and Arya thought her heart might claw its way from her rib cage.

"Your brother Robb," Ramsay flashed a wide grin. "Is doing just fine. All your family is."

Arya released a breath she had been holding for too long. She barred her teeth in a snarl. "I hope you die screaming someday."

"I bring good news and that's your reaction? You're not much of a lady are you?"

He was maddening, and his words were always far sharper than his knife. Arya had dealt with cruel people before. Joffrey, of course, was as cruel as they came. But he was stupid. He lashed out without thought, trying to hurt as many people as he could.

Not Ramsay. There was no anger to his methods. No hate. He was patient enough to study her, looking for chinks in her armor. He found the doubts and fears of her mind and dug into them, drawing them all out into the open.

The Boltons had a saying. A naked man has few secrets. A flayed man has none. Ramsay was not allowed to flay Arya, but he was doing his level best to peel away her sanity. He backed her into corners. He tormented her in her dreams. He fanned the flames of her worry for her family. And he pointed out her helplessness again and again and again, until Arya could not help but wonder if she had ever been strong.

One time, he visited her in the middle of the night. She was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring straight at the door. Waiting. He smiled when he saw her. That awful, wicked smile that she could never get out of her head.

"Still awake? Did I visit you in your nightmares?"

"No." She held his gaze and refused to lift her chin. "I'm not afraid of you."

He laughed once and shook his head. "Yes you are."

Arya swallowed hard and pressed her left fist against her leg.

Yes. She was.

* * *

Ramsay had always enjoyed games. From a very young age, he loved to play with others. At first, the games were tame. Fighting with sticks. Chasing servants through the woods. But Ramsay bored easily and he was always looking for ways to make the games more interesting. For instance...if he added a knife to the stick fight, it changed the game completely. When he used a bow and arrow to help him in the chase...made it more exciting.

Ramsay discovered the power of killing from a very young age. In his fifth year, he had caught a rat racing through his room. When it struggled, he squeezed. He squeezed and squeezed until it went still in his hands. It made him feel powerful to do that...He tried it again with whatever animals he could find. Rats, mice, cats. Not dogs. He liked dogs for their loyalty. Besides, if you trained them right, they could be used as weapons as well.

But the thing about killing...well that got boring too after a while. Whether he squeezed a rat to death or shot an arrow into a servant boy's neck from fifty paces away...it was over so _quickly_ that way. Humans and animals were so fragile. So easy to destroy.

So Ramsay learned to be a little more careful. He learned how to drag it out. That was why flaying appealed to him. It broke down a person slowly...gradually. And you could learn so much about them that way. How long did it take them to break? How long did it take them to beg? How long did they last before their heart gave out?

But just flaying? That could get boring too sometimes. Ramsay was so easily bored. Years after he squeezed his first rat to death, he was still trying to come up with new ways to entertain himself. Myranda and Tansy had been fun for a while. They had both been keen enough to join in on his games. He was able to play them off each other until Myranda proved to be the most interesting. Then the hunt for Tansy? That had been very fun indeed.

But once Tansy was gone, Myranda began to bore him too. There was no more competition, and her obsession with him was...well it was dull. But he could use it. Eventually he convinced her to topple from a high tower to prove her love to him. She had done it...though to be fair, he was holding a knife at the time she fell. Perhaps she knew the ground would be a cleaner end.

And then she was dead and he was bored again. Always bored. Always looking for a new game.

His father had an interesting game going at the moment. Playing ally to Walder Frey and then throwing him to the wolves and lions to wear down their numbers...quite brilliant really. Ramsay loved the idea. And it could end with them taking control of Winterfell. That would make him heir to the North, assuming his father did not have any true born sons. He wouldn't allow any true born sons. He had made sure that his fat wife, Lady Walda, could never bare any. She perished in the process of course, but that was no real loss.

But the real surprise of the whole game...the real interesting twist that amused Ramsay to no end...was Arya Stark.

Gods, she was fun. From the moment he saw her, he knew she would be fun. She held her shoulders proud like a lady and her eyes were defiant. It was not the look he expected of a Lannister captive. It was not the look he expected of a noble lady in general. Myranda had grit because she was a kennel master's daughter with nothing to lose. A girl of Arya Stark's position could usually afford to be soft with no real consequences.

No. There was no softness about her on the surface. She was sharp as steal. Sharp as a wolf's teeth. It took a lot to truly shake her, and she was quick to recover from pain and fear.

She was a project that he could really enjoy.

In the midst of waiting for the Starks and the Lannisters to finish with the Freys, Ramsay used her to alleviate his boredom. She was always surprising him with the little things. Her retorts. The way she refused to scream when she was in pain. The way she held his gaze even when her hands were shaking. He loved it. It would be so fun to watch her finally break, but he hoped she lasted a _long_ time.

In a way, it was good that he couldn't hurt her too badly. It forced him to savor the experience. To be _creative_. What a challenge. What a fun game.

And just when he thought it couldn't get any more fun...his father introduced a new twist.

It happened four months into the siege of the Riverlands. A rider reached the Dreadfort with news. Their allies were about to set a plan in motion that would cripple the Stark loyalists and, hopefully, kill Robb Stark. It would leave their enemies weakened

Walder Frey had played his part well. The perfect pawn in the Bolton's game.

"The Lannister armies are still quite strong," his father said. "Tywin Lannister did not summon his full forces. There are no Tyrells among their numbers. Likely he knew it was not needed. He will be a greater threat than Robb Stark's remaining men."

"The snow will still be thick when he arrives," Ramsay said. "Spring is not here yet. He does not know how to fight in the cold."

"Tywin Lannister has fought many wars. He'll manage it," Roose said. "You're assuming your opponents weakness again. But by now, he knows that we have his ward. Like I warned, he won't return to the south. He is going to come for us and soon."

Yes. Ramsay had hoped as much. He had heard so much about the brutality of the great Tywin Lannister and he longed to actually meet him. That business with the Reynes and Tarbecks? Inspired, really. Inspired enough that the sound of his song made men quake in their boots.

 _I'd a like a song to make men tremble one day._

"Our benefactor, however, has given us a suggestion that might make Lord Tywin give up the chase," Roose said. "If we find ourselves cornered."

"Our benefactor?" Ramsay smirked. "Well I suppose she would know best, wouldn't she? She is his daughter."

Cersei Lannister was another fascinating sort of person to Ramsay. Sent back to Casterly Rock by her father, she had been bitterly searching for ways to get back at him ever since. And she seemed to have a special hatred for Arya Stark, though Ramsay could only begin to imagine why. Initially, she backed their rebellion on the north just to strike a blow against the Starks and undercut her father's plans. But then things changed when Arya Stark came north. It was all that the lioness could have hoped for, it seemed.

Their goals happened to align and Cersei was a woman of considerable wealth. Her support would ensure that the Boltons could easily survive the winter. It might even guarantee them permanent control after her father was dead. He was getting old, after all. How much longer could he last?

"Cersei Lannister claims that her father's interest in the Stark girl is primarily tied to her marriageability," Roose said. "If she loses that value...she is sure he will pull back his forces."

Ramsay raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps, perhaps. Who did you have in mind?"

"You," Roose said. "You seem to like the girl. And it's past time you were married now that you bear my name."

Ramsay's face lit up in a smile. What a wonderful day this was. He had always considered marriage a rather boring prospect but... _she_ could be fun. At least for a while.

"It's not certain yet," Roose said. "First we must ride for Winterfell and take it before Robb Stark returns to the north. We must take additional captives there and if we can secure Sansa...well she is the sister with the better claim to the north."

"You should marry her then," Ramsay said. "You are without a wife again. Give the younger to me."

"As I said, the wedding is not a sure thing," Roose said. "Cersei Lannister may be Lord Tywin's daughter, but I don't trust her. She backs us out of spite and loses little if we fail. It is possible that she has misjudged her father's aims. I would rather bargain with Tywin Lannister first to get a sense of him myself. Better not to anger him anymore than we already have."

Ramsay drummed his fingers against the table. "Well you _can't_ just tempt me with such a delicious possibility and then say it might not happen."

"I can do whatever I like, Ramsay," Roose said. "We leave for Winterfell in an hour. Make sure Arya Stark is tied up so tightly she can't even think to move."

"Can I tell her about the plan?" Ramsay asked with a wide grin.

"If you please," Roose said. He was never particularly bothered by Ramsay's more sadistic impulses. Perhaps because he had so many of the same impulses within himself. He only pretended to be respectable. One of the benefits of being a bastard was that Ramsay never had to pretend anything. "Remember...No damage. We must tread carefully here. We're entering the final stage."

"I won't damage her," Ramsay said. "That would be such a waste."

* * *

Ramsay was positively beaming when he visited Arya that day. It was just past lunch and Arya wished she could go back to sleep. She had barely slept at all in the last two days because of nightmares. She'd barely eaten either. The food they served her was partially rotted and had made her want to vomit at the taste.

She felt...weak. But none the less, she forced herself to glare at Ramsay when he entered the room.

"And how are you this morning, little wolf?"

Arya did not reply. She was not in the mood for this today. She was never in the mood, of course, but especially not right now.

"The silent treatment? That's fine. I can do the talking," Ramsay leaned back against the door. "I have news from the Riverlands."

"True news? Or a lie to mess with my head?" Arya asked.

"True news," Ramsay said. "Walder Frey is on the edge of defeat and your family still lives."

Arya blinked. That...actually was good news for her. Which meant there had to be some kind of catch. "But...?"

"But our allies are about to turn on the Stark loyalists. They'll likely kill many of them in the confusion and chaos. Perhaps even your brother," Ramsay said. "That will make his forces smaller than they used to be. Between this and the wall, he barely has enough to defend Winterfell." He laughed once. "Oh. Coincidentally, that's where we're going today."

Arya's mouth went dry. What was he saying?

"Yes, we're going to take Winterfell off your family's hands before your brother return north. No doubt he'll be rushing back soon but...we are much closer," Ramsay said. "So he'll arrive and be stuck in yet another siege. And we'll have so many hostages that...well he won't have much ground to stand on."

Arya felt a bit lightheaded. This wasn't happening. This could not possibly be happening. The children were at Winterfell. And Sansa and Talisa. The Boltons would have no reason to keep them all alive, so who would they kill first to strike out at Robb? His wife? His sister? One or all of his children? She was suddenly glad she hadn't eaten because she felt horrible nauseous at the thought.

"That's not even the best news," Ramsay said. "Once we get there and we've established firm control over Winterfell...there's going to be a wedding."

 _A wedding._

Arya had felt panic and fear in so many forms in these past months. Sometimes it was hot and burned through her heart and mind, making it hard to breathe. But sometimes, like now, it was cold. It crept through her veins and froze her heart. She already knew what Ramsay would say before he said it. She already knew it in her mind and heart.

"You and I, little wolf. You're going to be my bride." He smiled so wide at the words. So impossibly and cruelly wide. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Something snapped inside of Arya. The blood roared in her ears, and she roared too. She let out an inhuman scream and she threw herself at Ramsay with full force. She had no weapon but her teeth and claws and she used them. She clawed at his face. She bit down on his neck until she tasted blood.

It lasted only a few seconds. He was able to flip her off of him and slam her against the ground. His hand closed tight around her throat and he pressed his knee down on her left wrist. Her good hand. She stilled, knowing that if she fought, he might break it. And then she would be truly fucked.

Ramsay was panting and laughing. "Finally. I got to hear you scream." His smile was poison as he looked down at her. "I hope I get to hear it again."

He stood and left her trembling with hate on the ground, opening the door to four soldiers. "Bind her hands and legs. Then bring her. I don't want her moving."

She glared fiercely up at him, wishing she could kill him with her gaze. She had never loathed anyone so deeply. Never wanted to kill anyone so much. All those other names on her list. The dead and the living. Joffrey. Cersei. Lord Tywin. They were nothing to her in that moment. There was only name at all she wanted dead.

 _Ramsay Bolton._

 _Ramsay Bolton._

 _Ramsay Bolton._

 _I will give everything I am. I will pay any price. Just let me kill Ramsay Bolton._

* * *

 _ **A/N: Wacky fun times at the Dreadfort indeed. Part of me does really enjoy writing Ramsay and the other part of me feels like I should take a shower after diving too far into his thoughts. Blegh. But anyway, I hope this chapter does not put too much of a damper on your Holiday cheer!**_

 _ **I wish you luck with your families whether they be like the Starks or the Lannisters. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	44. Chapter 44: The First Arrow

_**A/N: Super sorry this chapter is late, but it was giving me trouble because of battle things. I had a draft of it written but ended up having to change some stuff around. So here we are. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 44: The First Arrow**

Sansa had been expecting an army. From the moment she sent the rider with the letter to Robb, she began to prepare for an attack on Winterfell. It only made sense after all. While Stark loyalists were occupied with Mance Rayder in the north and Walder Frey in the south, Winterfell was left highly vulnerable. She had just enough archers to guard the walls of the castle all the way around, and barely enough soldiers to put up a fight if the army broke through.

To make matters worse, Sansa was not an expert at warfare. Not be a long shot. She had never presumed she would need to prepare for a siege. That was usually men's work and it was kept well out of her studies as a child. She knew how to organize resources for a long winter, which she supposed was helpful if the attackers tried to starve them out. And Tailisa was skilled at treating the wounded, which may help to minimize their losses. But Sansa doubted the Boltons would give them a chance to use either of those skills.

The Boltons would not try for a drawn out siege. They would make a full attack on Winterfell to take the castle. If they did not, Robb's armies would be upon them within a week. They had to take it _now_. They could not afford to wait.

And their odds were good. Winterfell did not have enough men or enough time to properly prepare.

Those in the most danger were the children. As Robb's heirs, the Boltons would want to get rid of them entirely. The same had happened to Rhagear Targaryen's children after all. The most obvious choice was to send them away to another castle in secret. But the Boltons might be expecting that. They might even have a spy already in Winterfell who could tell them of the children's departure. How else could they have known where to find Arya and Bran on that day, after all?

No...Winterfell was safer than the open road. And even if the attackers did take the castle, there were places to hide them.

Sansa hoped for at least a week to prepare for the attack. But the Boltons gave them less than three days. It was then that the watchmen reported a massive army sweeping over the hill, baring the flag of Bolton above them. With them came Umbers. Karstarks. Rhyswells. Lockes. All of the families Osha had mentioned had arrived at their gates.

Sansa felt bile rise up in the back of her throat but she choked it down again. Memories of the Battle of Blackwater stirred in the back of her mind. She remembered the stench of fire and blood that poisoned the air. Soon, that would come for Winterfell and the people inside.

There would be no mercy from the Boltons. Who could ever expect mercy from a traitorous house with a flayed man for their sigil?

Still, she and Tailisa stood atop the wall above the gate as the armies approached. Tailisa must have been as terrified as Sansa, but for her part, she did not show her fear. She had seen men bleed many times and even sawed of their limbs to save them. She did not frighten easily.

"The children are safe," Tailisa said. "Already tucked away and with plenty to last them until their father arrives. The Boltons won't find them if they do break the castle."

"They might," Sansa murmured. "It only takes one aimless guard. Or a few good dogs."

"Shaggy Dog will protect them," Tailisa said. "I've never seen a few good dogs win a fight against a wolf."

Sansa nodded once and looked back over the walls. The armies had stopped not far from the gates. At their lead was the Bastard of the Dreadfort. Ramsay Bolton. Sansa guessed that Roose Bolton had sent Ramsay ahead to take the castle.

"Lady Stark and Lady Sansa," Ramsay called up. "Kind of you to come to the walls to greet us. I don't suppose you will do us the courtesy of opening the gate and allowing us inside? We are quite tired from our journey."

"That is a shame," Tailisa said. "We have no room for traitors here."

"You don't have the men to oppose them either," Ramsay said. "You have archers I see. But probably not the best archers in the army. We have many times the arrows and men that you have. And more ladders than you can cut down." He inspected the walls. "It doesn't seem you've had much time to make preparations either."

"It doesn't take many men to hold Winterfell," Sansa said, making her voice stronger than she felt. "And they will gladly give their lives to do it."

"They will give their lives," Ramsay said. "Unless you do something about it. Open the gates and no one inside will be harmed. Yield the castle to me. I am a man of mercy."

He had a wicked smile as he said the words. It made his intentions horribly clear. He planned to kill anyone who was not of use to him. And he would not do it kindly. Sansa recognized in his eyes the same malice she once saw in Joffrey.

"I once asked a man like you for mercy," Sansa said at last. "I learned the hard way that he had none. I will not make the same mistake twice. We will not yield."

"Won't you?" Ramsay asked. "Not even for your sister."

The words stabbed at Sansa's heart. Only now did Sansa see a smaller figure being ushered through the crowd. She was bound tightly so that she could barely even walk on her own. And her mouth was gagged so she could not speak. Arya.

Sansa hadn't recognized her for a moment. Her sister had always been skinny, but now she looked almost skeletal. Her cheeks were sunken in and her face was pale as if she had not seen sunlight in all her months at the Dreadfort. But her eyes were still Arya's. They burned with vengeful grey fire as she glared at Ramsay. He merely smiled back at her and placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair.

"Don't feel too worried for her. This is a familiar position for your sister. Certainly not the first time she's been used to force family to bend," Ramsay said. "I wonder, how did Tywin Lannister argue for it? Surrender or I'll kill your sister?"

"I was not there," Sansa muttered. "I could not say."

"Well, however he did it...the threat stands for me," Ramsay said. "Open the gate, Lady Sansa. Or I'll open her throat."

Sansa's hand was trembling as she looked down at Arya. Her sister looked right back at her and shook her head. Even in this weakened state she was defiant. If Sansa did not know better, she might even say she was fearless.

But neither of them was fearless. Sansa knew that. They were both simply playing a game of trying to look strong. Arya had always been better at that game than her, but still Sansa could see through her.

Sansa could not watch her die. She had already been forced to watch her father lose his head. How could she watch her little sister meet the same fate?

Why was her family always in such peril?

Tailisa rested a hand over hers, and the feeling brought Sansa back to reality. She drew in a deep breath and held Ramsay's gaze.

"If I opened the gates, most of the people inside would die, because they are expendable to you," Sansa said. "I don't think Arya would forgive me if I gave over our home so easily. So the answer is still no. We will not open the gates."

The look in Arya's eyes was relieved. Of course, Arya would never forgive herself either if Sansa opened the gates because she was taken hostage.

"So your sister's life means nothing to you?" Ramsay asked.

Sansa's jaw clenched. "If you did not need my sister alive for something, she would already be dead. Or at least, she would be in much worse shape than she is now. The fact that she is still on her feet shows that she's _not_ expendable to you. Not yet."

Ramsay's smile did not falter. But it did sharpen. "You're right. Not yet."

Then he snapped his fingers.

Sansa expected, for a moment, that she might see Arya killed after all. But that was not what happened. As she had been so focused on her sister, she did not notice the lone archer who had slowly drawn his bow. Until exactly one second before he loosed the arrow. The shaft whistled past her, close enough that she felt it pass her arm-just before it struck Tailisa in the chest.

It was against all of the rules of war to strike at someone while still discussing terms. Sansa knew that much. Ramsay Bolton did not care for rules or honor or any of the ideals her father held in such high esteem. But still it shocked her to see him cross such a line.

Sansa felt Tailisa's hand slip from her own as she fell back. She looked down in horror and shock for a long moment before she fell to her knees beside her. Blood bubbled from the wound around the arrow. For a moment, Sansa wanted to pull it out but Tailisa grasped her wrist before she could.

"It will only...make the bleeding faster," she rasped.

"You'll be all right," Sansa said. "You can...you can tell me what to do. You know how to handle wounds like these, don't you? Give me instructions. Or...or I can find Maester Luwin. I can find...someone."

Her words fell from her mouth in a panic and tears burned her eyes. It didn't make sense. Tailisa would have been a valuable hostage. Did Ramsay consider her one hostage too many? He knew Robb had three children after all, and he already had Arya in his grasp. Perhaps he did not think he needed the wife.

Perhaps he just wanted to eliminate the Stark name as quickly as possible.

Tailisa squeezed Sansa's hand, staring up at the sky. "It's too late, Sansa. It's too late."

"It's not. Please. I need you to stand with me. I can't do this alone," Sansa whispered.

"They had...good aim. I'm sor-" She coughed and blood spurt from her mouth, staining the collar of her dress. "Just...the children. You have to...protect the children."

"They'll be fine," Sansa promised. "But you need to stay for them. They need you." She gripped her hand as tightly as she could. Tailisa had been another sister to her since she returned to Winterfell. And a good wife to Robb. They had the sort of marriage that Sansa always read about in her books. Two people who married for love and adored each other afterwards. She did not even want to think of Robb's face when he found out...when he saw...

Tailisa wasn't focusing on Sansa anymore. She was looking past her, up at the sky. "So many arrows."

Sansa heard them. She heard arrows whizzing overhead and the screams of some of the archers as they were struck with the bolts. Normally, there would be archers to replace them. But they did not have enough. Not nearly enough. Besides the soldiers they had only old men and women and children. They could hold a bow perhaps but...but there were just too many arrows from the other side.

They were going to lose. It felt as if they had already lost. Even is Sansa had been an expert at warfare, no one could have prepared Winterfell for this army in only three days' time. But still she felt like a failure.

"Ned," Tailisa murmured. "Be careful of the arrows. They're...sharp. Stay back from them..." She was delirious now and her eyes looked so far away. "Robb...get Ned. He'll...hurt himself. Please..."

Then she seemed to still, her last word still on her lips. Her eyes gazed out at nothing. The arrow had done its job.

For a long moment, Sansa lingered there, shivering with fear and sorrow. Troubles never ended for House Stark, did they? She had hoped her nephews and niece might know a childhood without war. But already they had lost their mother to it.

 _I've failed. I've failed everyone._

"Lady Sansa."

Sansa felt Brienne's heavy hand on her shoulder.

"We need to go. It won't take them long to breach the walls."

"I have to lead," Sansa murmured.

"Lead or not...they will come over the walls and they'll be all too happy to have you as a hostage or a casualty," Brienne said. "You shouldn't give them anything more to use against your brother."

She was right. They already had Arya. She should not give them two sisters. It would only put Arya in more danger and make either one of them expendable.

"When they break us, I will go," Sansa said at last. "But until they do, I stay. I won't leave this place in chaos." She stood and hurried down the wall, away from the danger of the arrows. Brienne followed close behind, shielding her with her armored body.

In the courtyard, the soldiers stood strong, along with the less prepared citizens who held whatever weapons they could find.

"M'lady," one said. "Orders?"

 _I am not fit to lead a war,_ Sansa thought. _But I will try._

"Shore up the gates," Sansa said. "And keep your shields above your heads. They'll be using ladders to get over the walls. That means only a few of them will get in at a time. Kill them as they do. The Boltons may have more men than we do...but as long as they have less men _inside_ the walls, we can still beat them. We are of the north. Winterfell is ours. We will keep them back."

 _Or at least...delay them for a while._

She was not sure if her speech was convincing, but the soldiers squared their shoulders and moved to do as she said. And Sansa stood in the courtyard, knowing it would soon be full of bodies.

Tailisa was the first of many deaths to come.

* * *

They held for one day. The Bolton armies had arrived at sunrise and it was nearly sunrise again. If only the sunlight brought any hope with it. Their numbers were enough to keep back the Bolton armies and keep casualties low. But after fighting through the night, everyone was beginning to tire, and they did not have the men to give those who had been standing guard at the wall a break or a rest. To make matters worse, the Boltons had been slowly chipping at their defenses. Bit by bit. Arrow by arrow. There were gaps now in the archers at the wall and not enough arrows. Especially now that they castle had been surrounded.

A group of ten Bolton men made it into Winterfell and cut down three archers and five swordsmen before they were killed by the survivors. Brienne herself killed three. But when Sansa looked up, she saw another wave soon to come.

"It's about to fall apart, my lady," Brienne said softly. "You lead well. But we are running out of time."

She was right. Of course she was right. Sansa knew it all along that this wouldn't last.

"My lady," Brienne said when she responded. "We should go to the children now."

Sansa nodded once, but not before turning to one of the older soldiers who's sword had slain many men that day.

"I leave you in command on the ground. Keep them back for as long as you can," Sansa murmured.

"Aye, m'lady," the man replied. He knew it was lost and he knew he was dead. She could see it in his eyes. "Get somewhere safe."

Sansa placed a hand at his arm, offering him a thankful smile. Then she hurried after Brienne. Even though she felt light headed and helpless and like an awful failure...she had to keep moving. There was no choice.

She had not had much time to prepare the castle. But she had time to prepare the crypts. She had prepared them with supplies that would last a few people several months. It was meant, initially, for Tailisa and the children. Now it would be for her and the children.

Only three people alive knew about the place in the crypts. Osha. Maester Luwin. Brienne. Sansa had told everyone else that she had sent the children away to another castle, just in case there was a spy. And if anyone was tortured...that was the information they would give to Ramsay.

Meanwhile, they would hide in the underground maze of the crypts and wait out the storm. Wait for Robb to come.

They reached the entrance just as she saw more Bolton men making their way over the western wall. She took one last look at the Winterfell courtyard before ducking inside the entrance of the crypt.

Her parents used to say that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And as a Stark, she would weather this awful battle and keep Robb's legacy safe.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Happiness and joy. Also, a death. Sorry for anyone who liked Tailisa! Or Robb for that matter, since he's gonna be more than a little devestated. Anyway, hoped I pulled off this new war chapter alright. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	45. Chapter 45: Loss

_**A/N: Apologies again that I am one hour late. I ended up sleeping in WAY longer than I intended and didn't get as much writing time as I thought. Also, I apologize for the length. It's over 2,000 words but its one of my shorter chapters. I've had a busy week for some reason. Business is stupid.**_

 _ **Regardless, hope you guys like angst! We got lots of angst in this chapter! Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 45: Loss**

Arya had been longing for Winterfell for quite some time. In her four months of captivity at the Dreadfort, she dreamed of the familiar walls and the people within. But this...this was not what she had wanted at all.

She found herself sitting in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by bodies of the Stark household. They scattered the ground like dead leaves in the autumn, their blood staining the snow beneath them. It was the kind of sight that should have made Arya burn with fury.

But she was numb. Completely and utterly numb. This place didn't even feel real to her and she did not feel solid in her own body. Her soul was drifting about her home like a ghost.

 _This is my fault_ , she thought. _I should not have gotten caught._

If she had been prepared and saved herself and Bran, then Robb never would have left Winterfell to deal with Walder Frey. She could have caught the kidnappers and forced them to confess. The Boltons could have been handled right then, and the north would be safe.

But that was all a distant, stupid wish now. Instead, she was caught again, Robb had fallen into a trap, and Winterfell belonged to the Boltons.

And so many people had died for it.

Arya longed for a weapon, but she could not move her arms to reach for one. Her bindings pinned her arms too her sides and the chains at her ankles made running impossible. She was helpless, sitting in the Winterfell courtyard, staring at fallen weapons she could not have.

Ramsay noticed. He always noticed the slightest things. He wandered over to her with a victorious smile on his face, picking up a dagger from a fallen soldier.

"Wishing you could have this, little wolf?" He spun it a few times in hand, letting it catch the early morning light. "You can. Just reach out in take it."

Arya glared at him but did not reply.

"Oh? Guess you don't want it too much then." Ramsay sat down beside, resting an arm around her shoulder. Arya gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to throw him off. "What do you think of the new decorations on the wall?"

Arya stared straight ahead, refusing to look up. She had been avoiding looking at the walls all morning. "They're exactly the type of decorations I'd expect from you."

"But you have to _look_ at them to really appreciate them." Ramsay threaded his fingers through her hair and forced her head back. "Look. Now."

She caught a slightest glimpse before she was able to close her eyes. And the images swung in her imagination even after she did. She used to play on those walls. She used to climb there with Bran. Race along them with Jon. Stand with her father and look out across the fields they called home. She could not stand to see the walls repurposed for this.

Ramsay chuckled when she shut her eyes. He was far too close to her and it made her skin crawl. "Open your eyes," he murmured in her ear.

She didn't. She refused.

"Arya," his voice was more dangerous now. She hated his nickname for her, but somehow, hearing her true name in his voice caused bile to rise up in the back of her throat. "Open your eyes. Or I'll make your left hand match your right."

Arya drew in a shuddering breath and slowly cracked open her eyes to look.

She saw Tailisa first. They had hung her over the gate and left her to sway in the icy breeze. Without the arrow in her chest, it was unclear how she had died, which she suspected was the point. Robb would be left to wonder how much she had suffered before they killed her. And his imagination could conjure up a lot. They had flayed her after all.

They flayed other northmen too, some of them living, and they hung along the walls just like Tailisa. Some men. Some women. Even a few children. Those they hadn't flayed and killed were left in the dungeons. Some of the women had been taken as "rewards" for Bolton soldiers. And a few were allowed to live their normal lives because they were useful.

At least the people hanging on the walls were dead now. Their suffering had ended.

"How do you think your brother will react when he sees?" Ramsay asked. "Will he howl? Or is he like you? Perhaps he growls more often than he screams." He looked at her. "What do you think?"

"I think..." Arya's voice was flat when she spoke. No anger, no grief. Just numbness. "I think I'm going to kill you one day...Lord Ramsay."

The threat only seemed to delight him more. "Ah...I hope you try, little wolf." He snapped his fingers at the nearest soldiers. "Find Lady Arya suitable chambers. Strip the room before you let her out of those restraints. We can't become lax now that we've won. Robb Stark will be here soon." He ruffled her hair. "Until then, I think I'll go visit your sister. Or perhaps one of the children. I'll decide as I go."

At last, Ramsay stood and let go of her. That was a relief at least.

And there was another relief too, even as she was escorted to her new quarters. Ramsay did not have the children, nor did he have Sansa. He pretended he did, of course. But if he had imprisoned any of them, he would have paraded them in front of Arya by now. He liked to brag and he liked to hurt her.

Somehow, her sister and the children were safe, and Arya had to keep holding on to that silver lining for as long as she could.

* * *

When the siege ended and the traitors were captured, the Stark armies made for the north with all haste. The Lannisters stayed behind for now, though they would ride north in a few days' time. First, they had to deal with the Freys. Robb's uncle was at least marginally involved, but Tywin Lannister was the one making the true decisions.

Walder Frey lost his head. That was to be expected. But his sons and grandsons did not fare much better. If they were involved in the siege at all, they would suffer the same fate as their father. The only one spared was Robert Frey, the man who had helped them. And, of course, the Freys who were not at the Twins. The seat of their house, would, naturally, be given to Genna Frey and her husband. That meant Lannister control, which all worked out very well in Lord Tywin's favor, but Robb did not have time to think about that right now. He had more pressing concerns to deal with.

Though Sansa had not said so in her letter, everyone knew that Winterfell was the Bolton's true target. Robb hoped Sansa had known as well. He prayed that she and Tailisa had time enough to organize some sort of defense around Winterfell. Not that they had ever had to do such a thing before, and he cursed himself for not considering this possibility when he rode south. He _should_ have. The Greyjoys took Winterfell once before while he was away. Why should he expect the Boltons to be any different?

The journey north left him anxious and he had the fight the urge to ride alone past his armies and gallop all the way to Winterfell. As it was, they pressed on with little sleep, taking the fastest roads back to the north. The melting snow made for difficult travel conditions and more than one horse fell with a broken leg. But they did not stop. They did not have time.

And when at last he saw Winterfell again...the sight felt like a blow to the chest that could have knocked him from his horse. Bolton banners hung over the towers, visible even from this distance.

Again, he wanted to charge at once. Again he let logic talk him down from such folly. They had to establish a good position. Then he would bargain with the traitors.

So the northern army established a camp at the edge of the Wolfswood. And Robb took a small group to the gate of Winterfell to speak with the traitors. To see exactly what they wanted and what they hoped to gain.

Ramsay Bolton met him atop the wall, a smile on his face.

"The Lord of Winterfell returns from his southern campaign. I hope it went well," the man called. "You look weary from your travels. I wish we could offer you a bed, but we're quite full at the moment."

"I'll make room again soon. Men without heads don't need castles to keep," Robb replied coolly. His anger was a storm inside of him, but he could not let it break through. He had to stay calm. "I'll relieve you of both before the spring comes."

"Bold words," Ramsay said. "Considering all of the hostages I have. Three children. Two sisters. I have a lot of...spares to kill, wouldn't you say?"

"Aye," Robb said. "But if you harm my sisters or my children or my wife, then I promise, your death will be-"

"Oh I'll give you your wife back," Ramsay said.

Robb paused, both confused and unsettled. Ramsay was still smiling but it felt wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

"If you want her that is," Ramsay said. "She's been hanging up here for some time and she's not much to look at anymore. But we'll cut her down for you, if you desire."

Only then did Robb see her. He had tried to ignore the bodies on top of Winterfell. But at Ramsay's words, he forced himself to look. And he _saw._

Something fractured inside Robb. Reality itself seemed to crack in one hundred different places. He did not even know how process the horrible sight before him. But there was Tailisa, swaying in the breeze, one of her eyes already gone, much of her skin gone, her face already beginning to rot.

He swayed like she did, on the back of his horse. He wondered, for a moment, if he might tip off the edge. But he felt his mother clutch his arm tight in her hand.

"Do not fall," she whispered to him. "Do not give him that, Robb. Do not fall."

Robb did not fall, but he was trembling as it all began to set in. Tailisa was dead and the children could soon join her. And he wanted to dig Ramsay's eyes out of their sockets with a rusty blade.

"He has the children, Robb," Catelyn murmured. "Be smart."

 _The children...that monster has my children._

Robb took a deep breath and looked up at Ramsay. "I know what supplies you have, Lord Ramsay. I know how long you can last. We'll starve you out if we must. Or we'll rip you out of the castle by force. Regardless, you will not hold Winterfell. No matter how many hostages you have. No matter how many hostages you've killed." He turned. "Look for your own men to swing tonight."

Robb started his horse in a gallop back to the woods. And when he reached them he gave his orders. All of the traitors were to be put to death that very night, hung from the trees of the Wolfswood. He would take their heads himself, but so many slices would blunt his sword.

"Ramsay will not care about these deaths, Robb," his mother warned him. "But it will only insight more anger in the Umbers and the Karstarks."

"Good," Robb said. "Let them feel anger. Let them feel sorrow. They will all die before this is over. They bore steel against their lord and these are the consequences."

"Hostages can still be valuable," she said.

She was right. They could. Even in his fury, he could not kill every traitor. Not yet. Not until they had Winterfell. "Then we will keep one traitor from each house alive. The most important one. The others hang."

His mother nodded once. That seemed to satisfy her. As much as she tried to be reasonable, he could see the rage burning in her eyes too. Arya and Sansa were in danger. Her grandchildren were in danger. She wanted blood as much as Robb.

His men carried out the order without hesitation. Having lost their own families in the traitors attack, they were eager for revenge. The woods that night were filled with the screams of dying men. And the bodies swayed like branches in the wind. Robb watched it all to make sure his orders were carried out.

Only after the screams had died did he return to his tent alone.

Years ago, he had stood with Tailisa in a tent like this and confessed that he did not want to marry the Frey girl. That he wanted her. That he loved her. And she...gods be good, she had loved him as well.

" _But you need that bridge. I hope it's a beautiful bridge."_

Marrying her had never been the smart thing to do. It was exactly the kind of reckless move that could have cost him the war. But he never regretted it. Not for one moment. He did not regret that night with her or any night after. She was everything he had ever wanted. The only thing.

And she was...gone.

When he finally registered that fact, he folded. He crumpled to his knees and he let himself cry. For once again he had failed. Once again he had lost.

He was so tired...of losing.

* * *

 _ **A/N: The Lannisters are coming back in the next chapter! And it will hopefully be much longer. I need to draft a few chapters ahead so I'm not laying the track like this lol. It's STRESSFUL! Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the angst and sadness and devestatingness of this hell arc. There will be some relief very soon! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	46. Chapter 46: Over the Edge

_**A/N: Okay, so this is late but this time its cause the chapter ended up WAY LONGER than I thought so um...you guys get more content :D This is a good chapter, I promise! Cliffhanger but like...kind of a good cliffhanger. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 46: Over the Edge**

An icy breeze whipped across the north on the day that the Lannister army arrived at Winterfell. And it made the bodies in the Wolfswood sway violently. Their stench would have been near unbearable by now, if not for the cold. But winter's breath preserved them and kept them swaying longer.

The forest had been made a graveyard. At first, Tywin thought the bodies might belong to Stark loyalists. It seemed a Bolton sort of thing to do-hanging bodies in the woods to welcome back the Lord of Winterfell. But closer inspection revealed that these were the bodies of soldiers. Some belonged to House Umber. Others to House Karstark. Others to House Bolton.

This was a graveyard of Robb Stark's making.

"Seven hells," Jaime muttered from beside Tywin. "What...what do you think prompted this?"

Tywin looked from the trees to the walls of Winterfell. Even from this distance, he could see bodies hanging from those walls as well. A taunt to which Robb Stark had responded.

We wondered if Arya Stark was among the bodies.

"Father?" Jaime looked to him. His son was likely having the same thought. But Jaime had never been as adept at concealing his concerns.

"We'll set up camp on the other side of Winterfell," Tywin said at last. "Most of the traitor's army isn't at Winterfell. They'll be waiting to attack from behind. We'll be more difficult to surround if we split our forces."

Jaime nodded once. "Right...of course."

Once the Lannister army had settled into a suitable place at the fields to the east of Winterfell, Tywin sent a messenger to Robb Stark's camp to determine the exact situation. For the next hour, he sat in his tent wondering what kind of news the messenger would bring. Wondering what had prompted Robb Stark to fill the Wolfswood with bodies.

The messenger returned with an answer.

"The Boltons had already taken Winterfell by the time the Starks arrived. Ramsay Bolton spoke briefly with Robb Stark from the wall and made it clear they had no intentions of vacating willingly. And..." the messenger paused for a moment.

"And?" Jaime asked. "What else?"

"Robb Stark's...wife was hanging on the wall. Flayed. It's not clear how she died."

Now Tywin understood. Marrying that woman had been one of Robb's greatest mistakes, and Tywin had nearly used it to end the northern rebellion. But he had married her for love. Ramsay Bolton had made the mistake of taking her away along with any mercy the Stark boy had left.

"Did Ramsay Bolton kill any other hostages?" Tywin asked at last.

"None that Lord Stark mentioned," the messenger said.

"Then he likely still has his children somewhere," Tywin said. "And both his sisters."

 _And Arya is still alive._

"There's something else," the messenger said. "Lord Stark...invited you to his war council at sundown. He says the northern lords won't make any trouble and it's more efficient than meeting back and forth."

Jaime shifted nervously. "He's sure that's a good idea?"

"He just hung quite a few traitors," Tywin said. "I doubt the other lords are eager to argue with him at the moment." He gave the messenger a nod. "Tell Lord Stark I will be there."

When the man had left, Jaime turned to look at him. "You're sure? Even after the Riverlands, I doubt the northern lords will be happy to see you. Or me, for that matter."

"I don't need them to be happy," Tywin said. "But we're in the north. They know this country better than us and they know how to fight in it." He adjusted his gloves. "This is Robb Stark's war now. It's time to see how he will win it."

* * *

Jaime had never seen such a sudden change in a man before. Robb Stark had always been a serious boy. He would expect nothing less from a son forced to take up his father's mantle so early. But throughout the War of Five Kings, there was always a spark in his eye. The fire of a young commander who was adept at winning. Sometimes he had been down right smug. Even during this rebellion, Robb Stark kept that same spark. That same strength.

But when they entered his tent...his eyes were cold and hard as ice itself. There was no light in them at all. He sat at the war table, his hands clasped beneath his chin, looking about ten years older than when Jaime had last saw him. If there was any question of whether or not he loved his wife, it was answered here. He had loved her dearly. But now she was gone and with her, a part of his own soul.

None of the northern lords seemed surprised by Tywin's entrance, nor did they try to pick a fight. But one did take issue with Jaime's presence.

"I didn't know Jaime Lannister was welcome at this council as well."

"Jaime Lannister played an instrumental part in the mission to rescue Bran," Robb Stark said without missing a beat. His voice was flat and cold. "And he saved my brother's life. He is welcome and I will hear no more about it."

Jaime inwardly cursed as he felt his father's gaze on him. He had not yet gotten around to mentioning that little mission. But Tywin did not question him here. The Lannisters never showed division in front of enemies or allies. He imagined he would hear quite a bit about it later.

He was soon saved from his father's icy stare by Robb Stark's voice. "I was glad to see your banners arriving so soon, Lord Tywin," Robb said though his voice did not have one ounce of gladness in it. "Is the situation in the Riverlands handled?"

"It is," Tywin said.

"Good," Robb said. "Shall we begin the next stage?"

There was a long silence in the tent. The northern lords looked between Robb and Tywin, wondering if Robb could get away with speaking to the Lord of Casterly Rock in such a cold tone. Would Tywin Lannister be insulted? Would he try to take control of the plans? Would he try to give orders in this place?

But after an eternal pause, Tywin took his seat at the table across from Robb. "Yes. Let's begin."

* * *

The meeting was long and tense-but not as tense as it could have been. Tywin, oddly, rarely spoke. Instead he listened. He listened to the Northern Lords debate and he let Robb Stark make the final call on all plans. He stepped in only to offer information about his own armies.

Jaime did not speak at all. He thought it best in a room of men that hated him to watch and listen instead of talk. Mostly he listened to Robb Stark. Even despite the tragedy of the recent days, his mind was not affected. If anything, it had sharpened. He was focusing entirely on the war, pushing out any thoughts of his wife hanging above Winterfell or his children captive within.

He did not have time to grieve right now, so it seemed he simply eliminated every distracting emotion.

By the end of the meeting they had a solid beginning of a strategy. The Lannister army would surround the eastern side of Winterfell. It would be the obvious direction from which to approach from the Dreadfort. But Roose Bolton would want to attack the Stark loyalists rather than the Lannisters. If they forced him to attack from the Wolfswood instead, they had the advantage of terrain. The thick trees would make a cavalry charge much more difficult and cavalry would be the death of the northern loyalist's weakened army.

The main goal was to make an attack difficult for Roose and keep Ramsay and his men locked into Winterfell. Further strategies could be decided upon based on how their enemy moved.

It was a good start and Jaime's father had no objections.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so silent during a war council," Jaime said when the meeting was at its end.

"I would have spoken if I needed to," Tywin said. "But I didn't need to. Robb Stark rejected the foolish ideas and considered the intelligent ones. In any case, I told you I don't know the northern terrain well. Better to leave the campaign in Lord Stark's hands."

Jaime nodded once. He supposed it made sense. And it did say something of Robb Stark's skill if he was able to gain his father's approval. But then, he had always been a gifted strategist on the battlefield.

"So...an instrumental part of the mission to rescue Brandon Stark?" Tywin asked as they neared the camp. "That's an interesting development. A shame you didn't tell me about it sooner."

"I had the sneaking suspicion you wouldn't approve," Jaime said.

"You're right. I wouldn't and I still don't." Tywin glanced at him. "Why would you take that kind of risk?"

Jaime shrugged. "Paying a debt?"

"You think just because you're a Lannister you can use that excuse for everything?" his father swung off his horse and stalked into his tent. Jaime followed after him even though he longed to ride away. "You can't. And it's not an excuse to stupidly risk your life."

"What do you want me to say then?" Jaime asked. "It's over and done with. I'm alive."

"And I want to be sure that I don't have to worry about you playing a great knight every time my back is turned."

"I wasn't _playing_ a great knight," Jaime snapped. "I was trying to-" He stopped himself when he realized how loud he had gotten. "I was trying to get a weapon to Arya. That's all."

Tywin studied him for a long moment. Jaime could feel it even though he did not look at him. Fortunately, he was saved from the conversation by a messenger entering the tent. A messenger with a letter, sealed with the image of the flayed man.

Tywin split the seal with his thumb and wordlessly began to read. Jaime stepped forward.

"What is it? A threat?" he asked. He hoped there were no more fingers.

"No," Tywin set the letter down on his desk. "Roose Bolton wishes to meet with me."

* * *

Tywin had only met Roose Bolton in person once before at some tourney. He could not remember which one. He knew from that first encounter, and from his reputation, that the Lord of the Dreadfort kept his cards close to his chest. He had a talent for violence and cruelty but he kept it hidden. He was the kind of man who would stab his lord in the back for the right price and that had made him useful to Tywin at one time. Now, he was a thorn in Tywin's side, disrupting the peace once again.

But when he called this meeting, he mistakenly revealed his play. He did not want to fight with the House of Lannister. He was hoping to bargain and send them riding south once again. And a man desperate for a bargain came to the table at a disadvantage.

When Roose Bolton arrived to meet him in the dead of night, he came with just enough men to be a problem if anyone attacked him. He didn't trust Tywin to keep with honor. Of course not. He knew how willing Tywin was to break the rules to win. But Tywin would not kill him yet. Roose still had a hostage, after all.

"So. You meet with me in secret," Tywin said. "Hoping to turn me away from Robb Stark's cause?" He sipped his wine. "If you wanted my support, capturing my ward was a poor way to start."

"It was a mistake. She was with her brother at the time," Roose Bolton said. "We could call it bad luck."

"You could. I don't," Tywin said. "Was it a mistake cutting off her fingers too? A slip of the knife?"

"It _was_ a mistake," Roose said. "But one that my bastard made. He's always been difficult to control. A mad dog that does what he pleases. Useful at times but often...a nuisance."

"Your mad dog is responsible for killing Tailisa Stark, I assume," Tywin said. "It effectively ended any possibility of mercy from Robb Stark. You know you won't bring him to the table."

"Yes."

"So you hoped to come to an arrangement with me instead. That's bold of you," Tywin said. "I understand. The Lannister army _does_ disrupt your plan. Otherwise, it was perfect. Use Walder Frey as bait to wear down the northern army and occupy the Tullys. Send other loyalists to the wall. Kill as many of Robb Stark's men as possible to cripple his forces. If it was only Robb Stark here, your victory would be nearly assured. He's a gifted commander, but you have Winterfell and a well-rested army." Tywin looked up at him, his gaze hard. "But you made the mistake of insulting me and taking my ward."

"Mistakes can be corrected," Roose said. "The girl is unharmed, other than those two fingers."

"So you hope to return my ward and send me south," Tywin said.

"That depends."

"On what."

"If I think you'll go," Roose said. "Because if not, I'll let my bastard keep her."

Tywin felt a wave of anger roll through him but he did not let it cross to his face. He only tightened his grip slightly on his chair. "If you were to do that, I'd destroy you. I hope you understand that."

"Perhaps," Roose said. "But I can offer you more than the girl."

"Really?"

"Yes," Roose said. "Your ward, I'll give to you if you leave for the south. And if you reach the south...I will send you a letter. A letter with a name."

"What kind of name?" Tywin asked.

"The name of a traitor in your midst," Roose said. "One that has been helping us under your nose."

A traitor. King's Landing was full of traitors at all times and Tywin was used to them. But if someone down south had presumed to help the north in an uprising...they could presume to start more trouble in the future.

"How do I know you have a name?" Tywin asked.

"You plan to marry Arya Stark to your son, don't you?" Roose asked. "We knew before she reached the north. And that isn't common knowledge, is it?"

No. It wasn't. But Tywin did not let any surprise show on his face.

"So..." Roose raised an eyebrow. "Is your ward in a name worth peace?"

"I can't tell you what will happen if you return my ward," Tywin said. "After all, I don't know exactly what condition she is in. But I can tell you what will happen if you don't return her. I won't ride south. I will stay here in the north and see your house burned to the ground. I will see your name wiped from existence. That is the price of insulting me. I always pay my debts."

Roose Bolton did not show any fear at the prospect to his credit. He nodded once and stood from his seat. "I know. And I promise, the information I have will settle that account."

Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. But even if Arya was returned to him in perfect health...and even if the information was good...he could not leave the north to deal with this rebellion. Otherwise Arya Stark might kill him herself.

* * *

The letter from his father was a command, but Ramsay could just as easily pretend he had never seen it. He didn't want to see it, after all. It contained words he did not want to hear.

 _Marrying the Stark girl will not convince Lord Tywin to leave. Better we arrange for him to have her back in one piece. Anything else he will consider an unforgiveable insult to House Lannister._

 _We can destroy Robb Stark's broken army on our own, but not with the Lannisters aiding them. We must do what we can to even the odds. Arrange for Arya Stark to be sent to me. I will handle things from there._

Ramsay nearly tore the letter in two when he first read it. What a ridiculous notion. Giving Tywin Lannister back his ward? Did his father really think that would convince the Lord of Casterly Rock to leave?

Sometimes he felt like a one eyed man surrounded by the blind. His father thought they could get rid of Tywin by returning the girl. Cersei Lannister thought they could get rid of him by marrying off the girl and rendering her useless. But they were both wrong. Ramsay could see it. There was no way the infamous old lion would back down now. If he had implied that he would, it was all part of a trap to lure Ramsay's father into giving up their most valuable hostage.

Technically, she was their only hostage, but Ramsay did not want to reveal that.

No...There was no escaping Tywin Lannister's wrath. Not unless they killed him. And until they did that...well Ramsay might as well choose the option that was the most fun.

So he tossed the letter into the flames, letting the fire eat up his father's words.

Ramsay had Winterfell now, and he had no need to follow orders.

* * *

Arya's room at Winterfell was larger than the one at the Dreadfort, but not by much. And it had no more weapons that she could use either. She spent the first hour pacing around to find _something_ sharp. It ended with her sitting on her bed again, nearly pulling out her hair in frustration.

This place was so familiar to her. It was the house of her childhood. But Ramsay Bolton had turned it into another prison. Could she no longer be free even in her own home?

But imprisonment was not the worst thing this place brought. Nor was the uncertainty of whether or not her family was alive. No...now that she was here, she knew that Ramsay planned to wed her very soon.

 _I will not wed him_ , she thought. _I would sooner die._

And she might. She very well might.

When he came to her room that day, she already knew what he planned to say. Not just by his smile but by the dress delivered to the wardrobe by two of his guards.

"Good morning, Little Wolf. How did you sleep?" Ramsay asked.

She did not reply. She only glared back at him.

"I didn't sleep very well myself," Ramsay said. "I was so excited for today. Specifically, tonight. Do you know what is going to happen tonight?"

"I assume you're going to tell me," Arya said flatly.

"Smart girl," Ramsay said. "Well, suffice it to say that this morning is your last as a Stark. You'll be a Bolton by tonight. My Lady wife. But, you will eventually be Lady of Winterfell once my father passes. That's what you always wanted, I'm sure."

No. It was never what she wanted. She had never wanted to be lady of anything.

"Lost your voice, have you? I can't imagine why. You've barely screamed at all." Ramsay tilted his head to the side. "I know what you're doing, little wolf. You're trying to make yourself dull. Hoping I'll lose interest." He tapped his temple. "But I know better. I know beneath that silence there's still so much strength left in you. So many parts of you I can break. It will just take time."

Arya still did not reply. His threats did not mean anything to her. She had already made a choice in her heart. She would escape tonight or she would die trying. Either way, she would be free of him.

Ramsay seemed slightly irritated by the silence now. He turned his knife in his hand, then jabbed out at her like he had many times before. She redirected the blow with her forearm. She did not break his gaze or her silence.

"There's that strength. Tonight will be fun." He smiled and pulled back and moved swiftly toward the door. "Make sure you wear the dress!"

Arya stared for a long time at the door after he left. Then she took a deep breath.

 _This may be...my last day alive._

* * *

Arya put on the dress that night, because appearing compliant was her only chance. Thankfully, it was not especially elaborate. Not like the ornate gowns of the south. She thanked the gods for the northern custom of function over appearance.

It was white as snow, and the skirt dragged across the ground. It would be a hazard if she tried to run. She picked at the hem until she managed to unravel the bottom. It would be just enough. Just enough to give her the chance to move.

It occurred to her that this probably wouldn't work. There was a very strong chance that she would die that night. She was at peace with that. If given the choice between death and marrying Ramsay Bolton...death was infinitely preferable. When compared with that sadistic bastard...Death was like an old and welcome friend.

Outside her door, the keys rattled. Arya sat passively on her bed, staring at the floor.

 _I am not a danger. I am passive. I am cooperative._

She imagined this was Sansa's tactic in King's Landing. To appear completely harmless. To stay quiet and hope the snakes grew bored with her. Arya only hoped that she could be as convincing as her sister.

She could only hope her sister was alive at all.

The door opened and four guards entered. Arya looked up with a blank gaze. She took in their appearance. They were armed of course. Swords in their belts and daggers. If she could just get one dagger...

One of them held shackles. Those could be her downfall.

"You don't need those," Arya murmured. Her voice was utterly flat to her own ears. Lifeless. Soft. "This is my wedding. I'd like my hands free."

The guards looked between each other, as if unsure.

"I have no chance against the four of you," Arya murmured. "I have no weapon. You have many. Please...just... Just give me the smallest bit of dignity."

There was a long silence. Then the guard hooked the cuffs back to his belt.

 _Thank you for that small kindness,_ Arya thought. _I'm going to kill you first._

She walked forward and they took their places around her. Two behind, two in front. She expected that formation. If she went for any weapons, the two behind would see and stop her quickly. She had a plan. A plan with a narrow window, but a plan none the less.

They crossed outside and the cold wind bit at Arya's face. She reveled in the feeling. It was a sweet sort of pain compared to everything else she had experienced in these past five months. And it would not be so bad...to die in the ice of winter. They would sing songs about this night whether she succeeded or not.

She took a deep breath. Then she let herself fall to her knees. As she did, her fingers closed around the dagger in the nearest guard's back as he passed by her. She slid it under the large skirt of her dress before he noticed it.

 _Quick as a cat. Fluid as water._

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "These shoes are too tight." She started to stand but faked stumbling and fell back to her knees. "My ankle."

"Come on. You can manage a short walk," one of the guards, the one who had not bound her hands, knelt down next to her. Another followed suit. Arya smiled.

 _Good._

Arya whipped her blade from beneath her skirt and cut the throat of the first guard in one smooth motion. She drove the dagger into the other's eye before he even registered what had happened. Then she threw herself at the third guard, driving the point of her blade upward through his chin and out the back of his skull.

The element of surprise always was her best weapon. It gave her three kills before anyone ever raised a hand to her.

The fourth guard notice though. He called out and drew his sword on her. The blade cut deep into her side, not enough to be deadly, but enough to stain her dress red. She seized his sword hand and stepped forward, cutting his throat. He joined the others on the ground.

Unfortunately, his cry had roused the suspicion of the other guards. Some were coming up the stairs and some from the battlements. And she could not kill them all with a dagger. So she turned and ran for the outer walls.

 _I hope the snow drifts are still deep._

Something whistled through the air near her and Arya nearly stumbled as an arrow grazed her side, slicing through fabric and skin all at once. But she didn't stop. Not even as the guard at the wall tried to intercept her. She launched herself over the north wall and into the darkness.

For a moment, she was falling and thinking only of death. It was possible that this fall would kill her. A fall like this had crippled Bran after all.

 _I am not afraid to die._

She used to be. She used to be so afraid of joining her father beyond. When Joffrey first set his men on her, she was afraid they would kill her. When she fought the assassins, she feared that one of their blades would end her life. _Not today,_ she had pleaded more than once. _Not today._

But there were things worse than death.

Arya hit the ground. Rather...she hit the snow. It softened the impact though she still felt her ankle twist and her ribs crack. Fine. That was fine. She forced herself to her feet and limped as fast as she could toward the woods, clutching her dagger.

An arrow took her in the shoulder and she whimpered, almost losing her footing. But she didn't.

 _Keep going. Keep going. Make it to the woods._

Not that the woods would truly help her. The Bolton soldiers could pursue her to the woods. By now, they would already be getting on their horses and setting loose the dogs. They would overtake her before she ever found Robb's camp.

Her vision was so fuzzy. Blood loss of course. It was still pumping out of her, even as she pressed a hand over her wound.

 _The woods. I have to make it to the woods._

 _The woods is a place for wolves._

 _And I am a wolf._

Sure enough, as she reached the tree line, she thought she heard a wolf somewhere in the distance. It comforted her as she dropped to her knees, clinging to a tree. Somewhere behind her, she heard hoof beats and she laughed once, delirious with pain.

 _At least...I tried._

She collapsed into the snow as the hoof beats neared. And somewhere very close, she heard a wolf howl.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Arya is once again severely injured but, on the plus side, she has made it to the woods! Let's see what happens to her there.**_

 _ **This was a fun chapter to write I just underestimated how MUCH I had to write so...well hopefully it's all good and you guys enjoyed. Son of the day is 'I Ran' by Hidden Citizens. Nice and epic to suit the ending!**_

 _ **As always, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	47. Chapter 47: Wolves in the Night

_**A/N: Welcome back to the fic! Time to find out what happened to Arya after that cliffhanger, huh? Who's gonna find her? So many options. So without further ado, enjoy!**_

 _ **PS: Song of the day is Casualty by Hidden Citizens, which applies very well to this hell arc.**_

 **Chapter 48: Wolves in the Night**

"Arya..." Bran murmured in his sleep, not for the first time. "Arya."

Catelyn felt her heart seize at the sound. Her son and daughter had been parted from each other some time ago. But she was in Bran's thoughts constantly. He, like everyone else, was worried for her.

But he was sure that she was alive. He could not explain why, he said. But he was sure.

Catelyn believed him, mostly because she _had_ to believe him. She would not consider the alternative.

She swallowed hard and continued her work on her protection wreath. It was busy work for her. Just another attempt at prayer for her daughters. A prayer that they would not meet the same fate as Tailisa.

"Arya..." Bran whispered again in his sleep. "White and red..."

"Shh," Catelyn murmured, resting a hand over his. She felt only three fingers against her palm. He had lost two to the Boltons. She wished she could cut off Ramsay Bolton's fingers in payment. "Sleep, Bran. She'll be all right."

He stirred again, though his eyes did not open. "The woods...Summer."

Summer was out hunting. Catelyn wished he would return soon. Bran always slept better with the wolf at his side. She exhaled, wondering if she would wake Bran from his dream.

"Arya is... in the woods..." he murmured. "Summer."

And then his eyes snapped open, rolling back in his head until only the whites were visible. Catelyn leapt to her feet, grasping his shoulder. "Bran."

He did not wake. He did not look at her. Instead he repeated the same words.

"Arya is in the woods."

* * *

Arya dreamed that she was a wolf. A wolf on the hunt. She dreamed she raced through the woods, lusting for the blood of Bolton men. In the darkness, they did not see her until it was too late. She leapt at them from behind, knocking off their helmets as they fell. She crushed their necks with her jaws. Then retreated back into the darkness.

There was no moon. Just pure night for miles and miles. But her eyes could see and her nose guided her. She struck at soldier after soldier. She tore at arms and legs and throats. She tasted their blood in her mouth.

It was a blessing to feel this strong again. She was beginning to feel like a helpless child locked up in that room. This dream was a reminder. A reminder that she was a fighter. A warrior.

A wolf.

The spear of a man bit into her hind quarters as she lunged at him. She ignored the pain. She pinned him to the ground easily. As a wolf, she was not so small and fragile. She was stronger than any other creature for miles.

He cried out for help and mercy, but Arya would not give him either. She snapped her jaws around his throat and bit down hard. She let the blood seep across her tongue and she felt him die.

She wished Ramsay was in this dream. How she would have loved to tear him to bits as well.

Nearby, she heard howls from other wolves. She whipped around as another soldier came at her, but he was knocked down by an even larger wolf. Greywind. And further behind him, she saw Summer racing through the trees, blood on his maw.

Arya would have smiled if a wolf could smile. She was with her pack in this dream. It was nice not to be alone. She had been alone for too long.

The last of the soldiers fell and his horse squealed and retreated. Bolton blood painted the snow red. She threw back her head and howled at the night sky. Her brother's howled with her.

In the back of her mind, Arya knew she might never wake. But if this was her last dream...it was not such a bad dream to have.

* * *

Robb awoke on the ground, sweating through his furs. He had dreamed...he had dreamed he was a wolf. It wasn't the first time but it had felt so real. He clasped his head between his hands and breathed in deeply.

He was in the Wolfswood fighting with a pack, killing Bolton men without mercy. It had been a good dream. Exactly the kind of release he needed after everything that had happened. And he was sure he saw Arya there. She was nearly dead but she had been lying face down in the snow still breathing.

For a moment, Robb wondered if she might have escaped.

 _No._

He dismissed such a hopeful thought. It would be a miracle for her to make it to the woods. And miracles did not happen in this world, especially not to the Starks.

It was a cruel hope. Nothing more.

"A dream," he murmured into his hand. "Just a dream."

* * *

There were wolves howling in the night. Sansa could hear them even from the darkness of the crypt. The children could hear them too. Lyanna smiled at the sound and stretched her hand toward the ceiling.

"Wolf," she whispered reverently. It was one of the only words she knew, and she chanted it often. But at least, Sansa had taught her to speak softly. They could not risk raising their voices.

The baby was the most difficult to keep quiet. Little Ben so desperately wanted his mother. He cried for her and every time he did, Sansa rocked him and pleaded for him to be silent. Little Ned had started to help her when she was at her wits end.

"Hush, Ben," he told his brother. "Hush. We need to be quiet. Mommy will be back soon. But it's important we be quiet."

They would have died down there in the first week if not for their preparations beforehand. Sansa had moved a small supply of food into the crypt when she prepared for the siege. She had also arranged for Little Ben's wet nurse to seclude herself there when the siege began, along with the children. She was the one keeping Ben fed when Tailisa could not.

But still they would have been captured by now if not for their other helpers. Brienne and Shaggy Dog killed any stray guards that happened to enter the crypts. Maester Luwin, one of the few who had been allowed to live, continued to bring more supplies when he could, along with updates from the outside.

And Osha had been the most useful of all. She had misdirected the Boltons. She said that the children had been sent away days before the siege because Sansa had predicted the Boltons would come. They had believed her. And why not? What reason would a captive wildling woman have to lie for her captors?

But for all of those good things...there was still the loss of Tailisa.

"Where's mother?" little Ned asked Sansa often. "When will she be here?"

"Soon," Sansa murmured, because she could not bear to tell them the truth yet. Ned asked the same question to Maester Luwin when he first stole into the crypts.

"Have you seen mother? Where is she? Will she come soon?"

Maester Luwin, to his credit, was good at hiding the truth with a soft, warm expression. "Later, Ned. She'll come later."

After the children had finally settled into sleep, Maester Luwin told Sansa what they had done with Tailisa's body. She was hanging over the ramparts of Winterfell, flayed and broken. Ramsay Bolton had done it, naturally, to strike out at Robb, who had arrived the day before. Maester Luwin said he had nearly toppled from his horse in grief but managed to stay strong. The news sent an awful numbness through Sansa. The same numbness she felt when she was forced to look at her father's head. How must Robb feel when he had to look on his wife's corpse?

 _I should have insisted she go to the crypts earlier,_ Sansa thought. _Then she would still be alive._

She tried to keep herself cheerful for the children. She told them that they would not have to hide forever and that soon their father would save them. Robb was fighting as they spoke. And when he was victorious they could come out and see him again.

She bore the burden of the bad news on her own. Talisa's death. Robb's reaction when he saw her. The Bolton's plan to marry Arya to Ramsay Bolton. She took it all in while her niece and nephews slept, then put on a smile for them when they woke.

They believed her smile, of course. They did not know enough of the world to understand that their father could die as well. Sansa had been the same way once. She thought her whole family was invincible.

"Lady Sansa."

Sansa jumped as Maester Luwin's voice came from the darkness.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Were you sleeping?"

"I rarely sleep," Sansa said. "Good news or bad?"

"Good. I think." Maester Luwin murmured. "Arya has escaped the castle. She was meant to wed Ramsay tonight. She killed her guards and ran. They haven't found her yet."

Sansa let out a breath. The good news was such a relief. Of course Arya had not gone quietly into such a match. She had always been such a fierce girl. A fighter. Perhaps she would find Robb before the Boltons caught her again.

Perhaps she would die before she reached him. It was impossible to tell.

"She'll make it," she murmured, more for herself than anyone else. "She has to make it."

"I'm sure she will," Maester Luwin said.

Sansa looked up at him. "Do you think Robb will win this war? Truly."

"He has the Lannisters on his side," Maester Luwin said. "He does have a chance. But the Boltons and their allies have a rather large army. And Robb's forces have diminished. I saw them from the battlements. The siege at the Twins must have taken many of his men."

"So that's a maybe?" Sansa asked.

"Yes. A maybe."

"I'm getting tired of maybes. I miss certainties."

"Better an uncertain future than a certain defeat," Maester Luwin murmured.

Sansa nodded once. "Thank you...Maester. For risking your life for us. We would be dead without your help."

"You don't need to thank me Sansa," Maester Luwin murmured. "I pulled you from your mother at birth. I pulled these three children from their mother as well. I would gladly die to see you live on."

"Don't die," Sansa murmured. "Too many people from the old days are dead. You cannot join them."

Maester Luwin smiled softly. "As you command, my lady."

The wolves started howling again. Lyanna set bolt upright, a smile on her face.

"Wolf," she chanted into the darkness. "Wolf."

Sansa hoped that there were many wolves outside the gates of Winterfell. And she hoped, with all of her heart, that they would tear the Boltons to pieces.

* * *

This whole situation was a bloody fucking mess. Jaime had seen his fair share of rebellions and wars in his lifetime, and not one of them had been simple. It was never a matter of one side fighting another. It was always a matter of betrayals, and back stabbing and internal conflict. And in the case of this conflict: a civil war that would leave a scar on the north no matter the outcome.

Ned Stark's death had left a crack in the north. A crack that started the first Northern rebellion. Claiming that there was peace did not prevent the creep of the fissures in every which direction. Now the whole north seemed to have shattered into tiny bits.

Robb Stark was a casualty of this conflict. Not his body but his soul. His wife was dead, and likely his children too. Jaime had seen them at Winterfell some months ago-innocent little ones who had no concept of war or death.

Even if they were still alive, their futures were bleak. If Robb moved on the castle...perhaps their bodies would join Talisa's on the ramparts.

Jaime sympathized with the man. Robb had not wanted to step into this role so young. He was handed a damaged, blood thirsty country that crowned him as a king. What large shoes he had been asked to fill. Only seventeen years old and he was meant to lead a successful rebellion against Tywin Lannister, the most feared man in the realms.

His bannermen had pinned all of their hopes on a concept-an ideal-and they were disappointed when Robb turned out to be a man like any other.

It was a dangerous thing, to realize a king was just a man. Men could be killed. Men could be overthrown. King Aerys had once been more than a man to Jaime. All of the Targaryens were. They were like gods who could not be touched. Then he drove a sword through his back and saw him bleed. And die.

There was no certainty in kings anymore. Or the power of a good name. It was only his father's sheer force of will that kept the Lannister name strong. When he died, the west might crack as well. Jaime was expected to succeed his father, like Robb was expected to succeed his. And already Jaime knew he couldn't do it. He was nothing like his father at all.

 _Father would have been better off naming Tyrion his heir,_ Jaime thought as he stared at the map in his tent. _Tyrion could move mountains if he was given the chance. I'll be lucky if I can keep the mountains standing. I am going to fail him._

He was saved from thinking too long on this depressing notion when a soldier swept into his tent. One of the scouts he had sent to patrol the woods. The man was white as a sheet and breathing hard. "Ser...you need to come quickly."

"What is it?" Jaime asked.

"We found...a girl in the woods," the man replied. "And a wolf."

* * *

It was one of the strangest sights that Jaime had ever seen. For a moment he thought he might be in a dream. A dozen Bolton bodies were scattered through the trees, along with a few horses, most of them missing limbs and throats. Their blood had stained the snow a bright red. In the center of the massacre stood a wolf the size of a lion, barring its teeth in warning. And beneath the wolf, lay a girl.

 _Arya,_ Jaime thought. A breath left him. It seemed impossible but then...he knew it was her. She must have escaped the castle somehow-thrown herself from the walls-only to be attacked by a dire wolf.

 _No. Not attacked._ Jaime shook his head. The wolf was _defending_ her. Its growl was like that of a mother defending its pup, and every time a Lannister soldier stepped closer, it snapped its jaws and forced them back.

There were plenty of stories about the Starks direwolves. They said it was fate that they should find five abandoned pups in the woods, one for each of the Stark children. Jaime did not truly believe in fate, but he had seen Robb Stark's direwolf in action. The beast had killed as many men as Robb, perhaps more. And it seemed to obey his will more loyally than any normal dog.

But Arya...Arya had been separated from her wolf for nearly five years. It was _impossible_ that the creature would remember her and protect her.

And yet...

Jaime shook his head and focused on Arya again. There was blood beneath her on the snow. The white dress she wore was in tatters from her flight from Winterfell. If she wasn't dead, then she was badly wounded.

"That's Arya Stark," Jaime said at last. "We need to get her back to camp at once. She's injured."

"The wolf won't let us close, ser," one man said. "Shall we shoot it?"

"No," Jaime said. He doubted Arya would forgive him for that. "Back away. Lower your weapons."

"Ser?" the men seemed confused by this order. Jaime wasn't sure of it himself, but he needed to try something.

"You heard me," Jaime said. "Weapons away."

The men obeyed and stepped away from the wolf. Amazingly, the creature seemed to relax a bit, closing its mouth over its sharp teeth. It still watched warily.

 _Alright. Time to do something very stupid,_ Jaime thought. He returned his sword to its sheath. Then he took a careful step toward the wolf.

It fixed its eyes on him, a growl sounding from the back of its throat. He held out his golden hand, hoping to calm the beast. If the creature snapped at him, at least its teeth would close on metal instead of flesh. "It's alright," he murmured. "I'm not a threat to her. But she needs help. She'll bleed out if she stays here."

The wolf stared right back at him. Seven hells, Jaime felt ridiculous. What was he doing trying to reason with a wolf?

"Nymeria is your name, isn't it? She mentioned it once," Jaime said. "You must care about her...if you're protecting her after all of this time. And I must be the biggest fool alive because I'm talking to you like you can hear me."

The wolf stared. Blinked. And then-incredibly-stepped away from Arya and retreated to the tree line.

"Fuck," Jaime muttered. "I can't believe that worked."

He hurried to Arya's side then, rolling her over onto her back. There were two deep gashes in each of her sides and an arrow halfway through her right shoulder. Her face was gaunt, like one who had been half starved, and her eyes were rolled back in her head, leaving only the whites visible. For a moment, Jaime thought she was already dead. Then she drew in a sudden breath, her irises snapping back into view. She gripped Jaime's arm, digging her fingers in so hard that he thought she might break through to his skin. Only eight fingers. He was distinctly aware of that. The panic on her face was evident.

"It's alright," Jaime said as gently as he could. "It's me. It's only me. You're safe now."

"Jaime," Arya's eyes focused on him for the briefest moment. Then she went limp again. Not dead. Just unconscious.

Jaime lifted her into his arms. "Bring me my horse! Quickly!"

His men hurried to obey and Jaime laid her carefully over the saddle. If someone did not see to her soon, she would die without question. He swung onto the saddle and urged the horse into a gallop back toward camp.

Arya's wolf followed closed behind.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Jaime has found Arya! But, more importantly...NYMERIA! Some of you asked a long time ago if she was ever coming in and the answer is yes! She sure is! I liked experimenting with the warging too. Because in the books, Arya does warg a few times though its more subtle. All of the Starks can warg to a point though Bran is by far the best.**_

 _ **Next chapter is actually one of my favorites because its actually got one of the three core scenes of this fic. In my mind their are three encounters that define the emotional arc of this fanfic and next chapter is one of them! Soooo...stay tuned for that. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	48. Chapter 48: The Broken Piece

_**A/N: And we're here! Bringing to you the chapter I am most nervous about. Mostly because I wrote the first draft of the final scene months ago and I have been trying to earn it ever since. So hopefully I've earned it and hopefully its good. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 48: The Broken Piece**

Tywin was toying with the broken king again. He often found himself rolling the piece in his hand without remembering when he had picked it up. He did not know why. He did not know why he had even brought the damned thing with him, but it had somehow found its way into his belongings.

A year and a half ago, Arya Stark had dropped the piece on the ground between them, like a gauntlet thrown in challenge. The defiance on her face had sent a wave of fury through him. And her words had sent more waves than he could count. After she left, he had nearly thrown the broken king out the window.

Instead he set it on his desk and kept it there.

Every time he saw the broken king, he remembered what she had said, and the anger started fresh. Not because the words were false. No, it was much worse than that. They were true.

 _You're not objective. You only pretend to be._

In the four years since Tywin had found Arya Stark, he had been studying her and learning her every tell. He was a fool not to realize that she had been studying him too. It had been a long time since anyone had been willing to speak quite so frankly to him. How ironic that the truth came from a then fifteen year old hostage. Her anger had outweighed her fear. And when he threatened to retaliate she called his bluff.

" _Do it. I'll wait."_

She knew it was a bluff. She knew that Tywin needed her alive. And more importantly she knew that Tywin _wanted_ her alive.

 _You're not objective._

No. He wasn't. He had never been objective around Arya. Not from the very beginning. He took her as his ward though her sister would have been more valuable. He let her practice with her weapons, though it would have been wiser to take them all away. He gave her a sword even though it would make people talk. He engaged her to his son. He went to war for her.

He always found a logical reason for his decisions. A reason to tell others when they questioned his judgement. A reason that he told himself.

 _I am not threatened by a girl playing with a toy sword._

 _I am paying a debt._

 _It is wise to join the Stark and Lannister families to prevent further conflict._

 _This is a rebellion, and this letter is a challenge. I must meet it._

But he did not have an objective reason for his fondness for the girl. And he did not have an objective reason for keeping the broken king she dropped at his feet.

Outside, Tywin heard a commotion and it snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up as Jaime entered his tent.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's Arya," Jaime said. "We found her."

The broken king slipped from Tywin's fingers.

* * *

Arya was badly wounded. Both of her sides were cut deep by blades and she had lost a lot of blood. Her ribs on one side were broken, her ankle badly twisted. She was delirious with fever and she was nearly writhing in her tattered white dress.

She did not have good odds, but she did have a chance, according to the maester.

Jaime was amazed she was not dead already. He wondered if she even thought to survive her escape attempt. These wounds spoke of a desperate gamble made as a last resort. Not many people expected to throw themselves from the walls of a keep and live. It was only the great snow drifts outside that had softened her fall and gave her a chance to run for the forest.

"I'll have to burn the wounds closed," the maester said. "The cold will have helped prevent infection, but we can't be too careful."

"Do whatever you need to do," Tywin ordered. "And if she lives, I will pay that debt."

Jaime had not seen such open worry on his father's face in a long time. Not since he nearly died from infection a few years previously. It was masked by anger mostly. That was his father's favorite mask to wear. But he was concerned for Arya.

Not that it surprised Jaime. He had known for a long time that his father cared for her. Everyone did...except for perhaps Tywin and Arya themselves.

As the maester prepared a fire, Tywin glanced at Jaime. "Go and find Robb Stark. Tell him we have his sister."

Jaime nodded once. And stepped back toward the entrance to the tent. The maester pressed an open flame against Arya's wound and she screamed. The sound made Jaime shudder.

"Go," Tywin ordered.

Jaime nodded and hurried from the tent.

* * *

Arya first woke to pain. White hot pain that nearly made her soul rip free of its skin. She clutched at the sweat soaked sheets beneath her, praying that it would go away. Praying for death to release her from the agony until she blacked out again.

Arya woke second to her mother's voice, soft and sweet in her ear. "Oh, Arya. My strong girl. You're going to be alright." She felt a hand on her forehead. "I need you to fight Arya. Please. Please keep fighting."

Arya listened to her mother's voice until the darkness took her again.

Her dreams were fraught with nightmares. Of Ramsay and his knife. Of Talisa's body handing from the ramparts. Of the rest of her family hanging with her, swinging and swaying in the wind.

She was not a wolf in these dreams. She was small. She was helpless. She was nothing but a shell of a girl, hollowed out by grief and fear.

In those nightmares, she screamed apologies into the wind. _I'm sorry,_ she cried out. _I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry. Forgive me._

In one dream, she thought she heard Tywin Lannister's voice, like distant thunder on the wind.

 _There is nothing to forgive. Unless you die._

 _I forbid you to die, Arya._

Sometime later, Arya woke for good. Every part of her body hurt, but her mind was clear. Slowly, she looked around. She was in a red tent. A Lannister red tent. And her mother was kneeling at her bedside, grasping her hand.

"Arya? Are you awake?"

Slowly, Arya nodded.

"How are you feeling?" her mother asked.

"I've... been better," Arya croaked out. Her voice was hoarse. She wonder how much she had screamed. "What happened? How did I get here?"

"Jaime Lannister found you in the woods with your wolf," Catelyn said. "He brought you back to camp. You're safe now."

"My wolf?" Arya blinked several times. "Nymeria is here? Where?"

"She's circling the camp."

Arya glanced to the side to see Robb standing at the entrance to the tent. He looked tired and so much older than she remembered. She felt as if she had failed him. She felt as if Talisa's death was her fault. If she was not captured...

She swallowed hard. "Robb, I...I'm sorry. I..."

Robb shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, Arya." Slowly, he approached her bed. "The...the children. Are they... Did you see them?" His voice was flat and resigned, but she could tell that he feared the answer.

"No." Arya shook her head. "Which must mean they are alive somewhere, Robb. Ramsay is cruel. He would have made me look at their bodies if they were dead."

"He could have them locked up somewhere though...waiting for the right moment," Robb said. Still he seemed relieved. At least they weren't _certainly_ dead. At least, there was some hope. "And Sansa?"

"I haven't seen Sansa either," Arya said. "She must be with the children. Maybe she hid them somewhere. I...I should have looked for them before I escaped."

"It's miracle enough that you managed it," her mother said. "How did you get away?"

Arya swallowed hard. "Stole a knife from one of the guards sent to escort me to..." she trailed off. "They were escorting me to...a wedding. They were going to marry me to Ramsay Bolton."

A wave of fury seemed to pass through the room, through both her mother and Robb. She felt her mother's grip tighten on her arm as if, for a moment, she was imagining it as Ramsay's throat.

"That bastard," Robb nearly growled. "When I get my hands on him I'll-" He didn't finish the sentence. Perhaps he didn't have the words. "How did you get away with only a knife?"

"I'm good with a knife," Arya murmured. "Though...it was luck too. They didn't know I was left handed, so I had the element of surprise. Then I threw myself over the wall and hoped the snow would save me. It looks like it did." She blinked a few times, trying to remember. What had happened next? It was all so blurry to her, like a dream. "But they sent soldiers after me. I don't know how I escaped them. I passed out soon after I reached the woods."

"It was the wolves," Robb said. "The woods were full of Bolton bodies. Nymeria killed them. Summer and Greywind helped. Their mouths were stained with blood when they returned."

"Amazing that she would be so loyal to you after so long," Catelyn murmured.

"Yes," Arya agreed. "Especially since...I threw rocks at her." She blinked hard to keep back her tears. She would not cry. She did not want her family to worry any more than they already were.

"Arya," her mother murmured. "Are you alright? We know the Boltons took your fingers and they could not have been kind to you afterwards. And you kept on...screaming in your sleep. What did they do to you?"

Arya bit the inside of her cheek as she remembered Ramsay. His face. His knife. There were scars hidden under her clothes and under her skin. But she did not want to share her captivity with her mother. She had worried her enough. So instead, she forced a smile. "I was screaming because of the pain, mother. I promise, I'm fine, other than the obvious. The fingers were the worst of it, truly. And that was months ago. I'm just glad to be back with all of you."

"Are you sure?" Robb asked. "The Boltons have proven themselves monsters. If they did _anything_ else-"

"I'm fine, Robb." Arya looked up at him. "The injuries will heal. And I still have my left hand to fight with. You have much bigger problems to worry about than me."

"There are no worries more important than family," Robb murmured. "You asked me...you asked me if I ever regretted the choice I made years ago. If I had ever thought about what would happen if I chose differently. I did think about it. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't. But I didn't regret it. I still don't."

Arya shuddered. A well of emotions threatened to overflow but she kept them back. All she could manage was a nod.

"I'll leave you to rest," Robb said. "You need to recover your strength. I am sorry that you have endured so much for me."

"It's not your fault," Arya murmured. _It's mine,_ she thought. _I should have been quicker. I shouldn't have let myself be captured._

"It's not yours either," her mother replied, seeming to read her mind.

Arya kept her smile and nodded again. She would not worry them. Not when there was a war to be won. "I am feeling tired. I should rest more."

"Of course," her mother said. "We'll leave you be. I'll be by again soon with food."

"Thank you," Arya said.

When her family was gone, she lay back against her pillow. So long as there was a war, there was not time for weakness. She had to lock her time with the Bolton's in a box. She had to be strong.

 _I am a wolf,_ she told herself. _I can bare it on my own. I am a wolf._

If she thought those words enough...perhaps she would begin to believe them.

* * *

Arya was staring at her hand when Jaime arrived. Her right hand. It was still strange to her, even four months later, to see her hand without two of his fingers. Sometimes, she woke and was sure they would have grown back. But the empty space remained.

"They went for the wrong hand again, didn't they?"

Arya's head jerked up and she saw Jaime standing in the entrance to the tent. He held a long, narrow bundle in his hands, wrapped in red cloth.

"They...always go for the right," she replied after a pause.

"Unlucky for me. But lucky for you." He approached the bed, setting the bundle at its foot. "It takes some getting used to, but it will start to seem normal after a while."

Arya flexed her three fingers a few times. "I'll manage. I don't need this hand to fight."

"No." Jaime sat down beside her. "And your other injuries?"

"They won't kill me. I'm in pain but at least I'm not..." she trailed off.

"At least you're not married to Ramsay Bolton?" Jaime asked.

Arya didn't reply. She gripped her blankets with her left hands.

"I thought that's what happened. The dress you wore wasn't a dress for a normal hostage," Jaime said. "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"Not keeping a closer eye on you."

Arya shook her head. "That wasn't your fault. You had no way of knowing I would be captured. Besides, I can usually take care of myself but... I should have taken more than a knife with me." She picked at the bandages on her right hand. "I'm guessing my swords are still in my room at Winterfell. I hope the Boltons haven't found them."

"They're not. And they haven't." Jaime nodded to the bundle at the foot of her bed.

Arya didn't understand for a minute. Then she leaned forward-slowly to avoid hurting herself-and drew the bundle closer to her. Three weapons lay inside. Winter's Fury, Needle, and her unnamed knife. She released a breath. "You...you brought them with you?"

"I thought you were at the Twins," Jaime said. "If we found you there...well, I assumed you would want a sword as soon as possible."

He was right. It was a relief to feel their hilts against her palm again. Just their presence made her feel a bit stronger. Ramsay didn't have her swords. For everything else he had taken from her, he had not taken these.

"Thank you," she whispered at last. Again, a wave of emotion threatened to break her. Again she held it back, like a fragile dam against a rushing current. There were still more important things to worry about. "For this...and for finding me. I might have died if you didn't."

"Never would have managed it if you didn't escape to the woods," Jaime said. "I'm sure it was an impressive scene. How many did you kill?"

"Just four," Arya said. "Then I ran for it."

"Not out the front gate, I assume."

"No. Over the walls." Arya smiled bitterly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Anything seemed like a good idea...compared to him."

"And now?" Jaime was quiet for a long moment. "How are you now?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

"It's over now." Arya put on a smile again. "Why wouldn't I be?"

* * *

Arya locked her weakness away deep inside of herself. She got better at lying the more her mother and brother asked about her wellbeing over those next few days. Same with Jaime. She gave them a cheerful answer as often as possible.

 _Yes, my sides are feeling better._

 _I nearly slept through the night last night._

 _I can move my ankle again. It's much less stiff._

Slowly, they seemed to start believing her. Perhaps because they _wanted_ to believe her. They wanted to believe that she was the same Arya. The same fierce, strong girl who could overcome absolutely anything.

Arya wanted to believe that too. If she said it enough, perhaps she would start to believe it. Perhaps she would forget all about the Boltons in time.

Then Tywin Lannister came to her tent.

She did not even need to lift her head to know it was him. There was something about his footsteps that he recognized. That and his silence. He did love his silences.

It had been half a year since she'd last seen him, and even then, they had only spoken for a few minutes with tense, measured voices. It felt like a lifetime since they had truly spoken.

Part of her was surprised he had come to see her. Now that she was back in his hold, she expected him to return to the task of ignoring her. But perhaps he wanted to check to see if his investment was still sound. If she could still be of any use to him.

At last, when she could bear the silence no more, she spoke. "Shall I give you the answers I've given everyone else?" she asked. "No, the damage isn't too bad. Yes, my hand is feeling much better. No, I don't need anything. Yes. I'm fine."

"I thought you were past trying to lie to me," Tywin replied.

Her heart clenched but she ignored it. She raised her head to look at him, forcing a smile on her face. "It's not a lie. Truly, my lord, there's nothing at all wrong. I've escaped my captors and I'm feeling much better already. In time, I will make a full recovery. Except for the fingers. But those came from my right hand. I'll still be able to wield a sword with little effort."

Tywin did not respond. Rather he held her gaze, patiently. As if waiting.

"I'm lucky to be alive really," Arya rattled on, desperate to fill the silence. Silence made her feel more fragile. "This is a better result than I hoped for. This business with the Boltons won't spoil any of your plans, I assure you. There's no need to worry."

Still, Tywin's gaze did not waver. Arya felt her body trembling, even beneath the thick covers. She was cold. She was so cold. And he was peering right through her, into the depths of her brittle soul. So she kept talking. She kept talking because if she stopped, something inside of her might shatter.

"But why would you worry? You always have a plan for every eventuality. You're good at making plans, aren't you? The Boltons told me about your plans if Robb hadn't taken your deal. It was already in progress wasn't it? A wedding at the Twins. A place to kill my brother since you couldn't beat him on the battlefield. You really don't care at all about honor do you?" She choked out a laugh. "You're the worst. Truly. The very worst sort of person. I'm surprised you didn't hand me to the Boltons in the first place just to keep them in line. In fact, why not just let them keep me? Why bother raising soldiers?"

Tywin said nothing. He denied nothing. His expression did not change.

"No, I suppose you need me for something else, don't you?" Arya spit through gritted teeth. "It all depends on where you need people. Where you can place them. Well don't worry, my lord, I'm still a working piece. That's what I've always been to everyone. The Boltons, the Freys, the Tyrells. My family. You. A daughter of House Stark. The perfect leverage. Did you come to see if I was still worth anything?" She glared at him, feeling tears begin to well up in her eyes. No, gods, no. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm fine. I'm _fine_. Just _stop_."

Then the tears overflowed and would not cease. She wanted to scream but screaming would not pull the water back into her eyes. She curled in on herself, ignoring the pain from her still healing wounds, resting her forehead on her knee.

She wanted to die.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then Arya heard footsteps as Tywin crossed to her bedside. She felt his hand on her shoulder. It was something of a comfort. She had never expected comfort from Tywin Lannister in her whole life.

He was unused to giving it. Because after a few moments, he seemed to think about withdrawing. Arya latched onto his wrist with her left hand and squeezed as hard as she could, keeping him there.

"I hate you," she muttered. "So much."

"I know," he replied.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Me, trying to get Tywin to have an emotional arc in any form: *incoherent, frustrated screaming***_

 _ **But hey, they're back together again after several chapters of being seperate! Hopefully it turned out well. This is one of three pivotal scenes around which the fic kinda revolves. The first is their argument. The second is this one and the third is toward the end of the fic. But this is probably my favorite scene I've written so far. So I hope you enjoyed! Be sure to review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	49. Chapter 49: Long Delayed Conversations

_**A/N: Alrighty and we're back! Slightly shorter chapter this time, because its a breathing room chapter before we get back into the action and plot. Lots of good character convos and this, hence the chapter title. Hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 49: Long Delayed Conversations**

It was strange being in the same tent with him. At one point Arya had spent an awful lot of time at Tywin Lannister's side. Years ago, when she played his cupbearer, she was always hovering at the edge of his war councils, listening to their battle plans. Sometimes, after the others left, he had even asked her opinion.

Arya had no idea what to make of the Lord of Casterly Rock then. She didn't know what to make of him for a long time after. There was a strange familiarity between them, but she thought she had thrown it all away in their argument a year and a half previous.

She was wrong. That familiarity was back again as he sat beside her bed.

She had stopped crying by now. It was a brief release of emotion that she contained as quickly as she could. But it had still happened. She never meant to show such weakness in front of him.

So she decided to change the subject.

"How does Robb plan to take back Winterfell?"

"By siege," Tywin said. "Patience is the most prudent option when your enemy holds most of the cards. Robb's army is already broken from what happened at the Twins."

"Ramsay mentioned that," Arya said. "How bad was it?"

"It would have been worse without your sister's letter."

Arya's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"It seems that she identified the traitors and the plan. Apparently she directed the messenger to deliver to my hands if he could not find your mother or brother. And that, fortunately, gave me just enough warning that I could block most of the traitors from retreating."

Arya exhaled slightly. "Of course...that makes sense."

"Does it?" Tywin tilted his head to the side. "It didn't make much sense to me at the time. Why would a Stark ever direct a letter to a Lannister."

"I told Sansa first about...about my engagement," Arya said. "She knew that you had some need or me so you were someone she could trust with the information."

"I see," Tywin said. "Why did you tell her and no one else?"

"I figured that she would understand," Arya shrugged.

"But not your mother or your brother," Tywin said. "They were surprised when I told them."

"Really?" Arya's mouth twitched once and her fingers twisted about each other. "It seems I got out of telling them after all. I knew there was some way to avoid it."

"They likely would have taken it better from you than me."

"Likely...yes." Arya looked up at him. "But you're still working together at the end of it. How does it feel fighting with Starks instead of against them?"

"Oftentimes infuriating," Tywin replied.

"Would you rather fight against us?"

"No. That's far worse." Tywin shook his head. "Even in arguments you Starks are impossible."

Arya looked down at her hands again, rubbing the stumps of her two fingers. They had healed over mostly, leaving scabs behind and they did not hurt like they used to. "Thank you for coming north."

"I had no choice," Tywin said. "When someone insults the Lannister name, I respond in kind."

"Thank you anyway." She picked a bit at the scab. "If you hadn't, my brother's armies might have been crushed at the Twins. There would be no siege at Winterfell."

"No," Tywin agreed. "Roose Bolton's bastard gravely miscalculated when he sent your fingers to me."

Arya looked up at him. "He sent them... to you?"

Tywin nodded once. There was a tightness in his jaw that spoke of his anger. "Like I said. Insults."

Arya gritted her teeth together, clenching her fingers together. "I wish I could have killed him before I escaped. I've never wanted to kill someone more. Not even Joffrey. I want to look into his eyes and I want to see him fear me as he dies."

"If I can, I'll grant you that wish," Tywin said. "Though he's not the only enemy."

"No," Arya agreed. "There's Roose Bolton. And the other houses that joined him."

"Someone else too," Tywin said. "Roose Bolton mentioned that someone in the south supported him-a traitor in our midst. I wondered if he had told you a name."

Arya's brow furrowed and she shook her head. "No, he never mentioned a southern supporter." She looked up at him. "When did he mention it you?"

"He came to my camp the other night to try to make a deal that would send me south," Tywin said. "He hoped that if he gave you back to me I might leave the north to it's own affairs."

"And what did you say?" Arya asked.

"Well, you're back here and I haven't left yet. I think you can guess."

"No, but...did you tell him no?" Arya asked. "It's important. Did you give him a certain answer?"

Tywin shook his head. "No. I wanted him to think there was a chance so that he might foolishly return his best hostage."

"Good. That's good," Arya said. "Because I might have an idea."

The tent flap brushed aside and Arya looked up to see her mother standing in the opening. Her gaze flicked from Arya, to Tywin, confusion passing over her face. But it did not linger long. "I'm sorry to disturb you but...Bran was asking for you. If you feel well enough to cross to the norther camp then..."

"Yes." Arya forced herself to sit up straighter though it sent pain shooting through her torso. "Yes of course I want to see him. Is he alright?"

"In much better shape than you," Catelyn crossed to her bedside. "Come. There's a cart just outside. You'll only have to walk a short distance."

Arya nodded once and forced herself from the bed, leaning on her mother like a crutch. Then she remembered her weapons and grasped for them. "My sword...I need at least one of them..."

Tywin stood, taking Winter's Fury from her bedside and handing it to her. Arya grasped it gratefully in her hand and fumbled to tie it to her belt. When she had secured it, Tywin nodded once and started from the tent. But he stopped just before he left.

"Lady Arya, if you have an idea, I suspect you'll want to discuss it with your brother," he said. "I'll be by his tent shortly to discuss the siege. You can tell us both then."

Arya nodded once. "All right." Then, when Tywin had gone, she took a step forward, trying not to bare much weight on her twisted ankle. Her mother kept her steady.

"Careful now," she murmured. "I've got you."

* * *

Crossing camps was slow going since Arya winced every time the cart hit a harsh bump. But she tried to bite back her pain as they went. She wanted to see Bran again. She _needed_ to see that he was okay and not too damaged by the Freys. Arya would blame herself for every scrape or bruise he earned.

"I'm sorry we could not return you to our camp earlier," Catelyn said. "We didn't want to risk worsening your injuries."

"It's fine," Arya said. "I used to being among Lannisters."

"That's true." Her mother let out a heavy breath. "And soon you won't just be among them. You'll be one of them."

Arya stared down at her hand, not replying.

"Arya, why didn't you tell me about your engagement?" her mother asked.

"I didn't want you to worry," Arya said.

"I worry about you whether you tell me anything or not," Catelyn said. "Did you imagine I would be angry at you for this? I know it's not under your control."

Arya shook her head. "Mother...did you promise me to one of Walder Frey's grandsons?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. "I...what?"

"Did you promise me to him for a bridge?" Arya picked at her bandages. "Lord Tywin said you needed control of a bridge."

Her mother's jaw tightened. "It wasn't Lord Tywin's business to tell you such a thing."

"But it's true," Arya said. "Isn't it?"

Catelyn looked out at the horizon, suddenly studying the sky very intently. "Yes. It's true."

Arya nodded once. "I was angry when I found out. I expected Lord Tywin to force me into a marriage at some point. I was his ward, after all. But when I heard you had done the same thing...I was furious." She smiled bitterly. "And I knew if I brought up Jaime, you would be angry. And then all of my anger would bubble to the surface and I would have to confront you about that damn bridge."

"Oh, Arya..." Catelyn's voice seemed weighed down by sorrow.

"I didn't want to do it," Arya continued. "Not while I was visiting home for the first time in so long. I didn't want the truth. To know that I've been used as a pawn by nearly everyone in my life, including my own family."

"You're not a pawn to us," Catelyn protested.

"You still used me like one," Arya said. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not angry at the moment. I've spent all my fury on other people."

They lapsed into silence for a long while. And in that silence hung guilt. Her mother had not wanted to make such a match for her. It had been war though. It had been desperate times and they needed that bridge. Arya just wished she was not the currency used to gain it.

"Jaime's not a bad person," Arya said at last. "He's not a good person either. But he lets me have my sword which is more than most people have done for me." She looked up at her mother. "And with this match, I can keep the Starks and Lannisters at peace."

"There are other ways to do that, Arya."

"A few, maybe," Arya said. "But you're not going to convince Lord Tywin."

Catelyn exhaled. "I know. I already tried."

Arya's mouth twitched. The thought of her mother arguing with Tywin Lannister was a wonderful picture. She wished she could have seen it.

"I'm sorry," Catelyn murmured. "About the bridge."

"It's alright," Arya replied, looking off into the distance. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Just over the hill, she thought she saw a wolf sprinting toward the tree line, circling the northern camp. Somehow, she knew it was Nymeria. Her wolf had not come to her as she recovered. She did not lie at the foot of her bed or try to keep her warm.

But then again, that wasn't Nymeria's way. She was a wild animal, not a pet. And she never kept still for long.

* * *

Bran did not look harmed beyond his missing fingers and the sight relieved Arya. She stumbled all the way to his chair to throw her arms around him, even though it hurt her to do so. Bran was alive. Her failure to protect him had not damaged him too badly. She still felt nauseous when she thought about him losing his fingers, but it was better that he was sent to the Freys. The Boltons had originally meant to keep Bran and Arya could not have tolerated Ramsay targeting him instead of her.

Bran wrapped his arms around her shoulders as carefully as he could. "Gods Arya. Are you sure you should be standing?"

"My ankle is just a bit twisted."

"Don't pretend that's your only injury." Bran nudged her just slightly toward his cot. "Sit, please."

Arya did, gratefully. "I'm glad the Freys didn't harm you."

"No. They were kind enough," Bran said. "I was their only hostage, after all. The Boltons were foolish to treat you so roughly."

"Most of this came from my escape attempt," Arya said. "They were trying to slow me down. They couldn't be without their only hostage."

Bran's eyebrows rose. "So you _were_ their only hostage. I thought so."

"You thought...what?" Arya blinked. "How could you think so?"

"I imagine it has something to do with what he wanted to discuss with us," Robb brushed aside the flap of the tent and ducked inside. He looked Arya over. "How are you feeling?"

"Still terrible, but my life isn't in danger," Arya said. "You?"

"About the same," Robb managed. He returned his attention to Bran. "So...what makes you think that Ramsay doesn't have the children?"

"I saw them in the crypts with Sansa," Bran said. "Brienne is guarding them and Maester Luwin visits when he can. No one has found them yet."

"How could you possibly know that?" Robb asked.

"Because Shaggy Dog is there too. I saw through his eyes," Bran said. "I used to only see through Summer's eyes, but I'm getting better at using others now."

"You're talking about dreams, Bran," Robb said. "Those are dreams."

"No. Not just dreams," Bran looked up at Robb. "The night that Jaime found Arya. You had a dream didn't you? You dreamed that you were a wolf."

Robb paled and looked away. "Maybe I did...I don't remember."

"I did," Arya murmured. "I remember clearly. I was running through the woods and ripping apart Bolton men." She glanced between her brothers. "And I saw Summer and Greywind there too."

"There were dozens of me dead in the trees," Bran said. "Normally, wolves would never attack that many. They're cautious creatures by nature. But they did because we needed to protect Arya and it was the only way."

"That isn't..." Robb shook his head. "I'm not sure how that's possible."

"You've had other wolf dreams, haven't you?" Bran asked. "You've just ignored them. Rickon used to have dreams too. Horrible nightmares. And when he did, Shaggy Dog would howl and rage and snap at anyone who came near him."

"Shaggy Dog was always wild," Robb said.

"Because Rickon was wild. Because he was scared," Bran said. "Robb, I know it isn't normal. But it's not normal that Nymeria protected Arya after five years apart. Our wolves _aren't_ ordinary. They're a part of us. They always have been. I know it sounds mad, but I'm not mad."

"No," Arya agreed. "You were always the smartest of us. You always had a question for every answer Maester Luwin gave you. 'Smart children know answers and are satisfied with that,' he said. 'The smartest children ask more questions.'"

"Answers are important too," Robb said. "When did you decide that these dreams were...more than that?"

"I read about it when I could," Bran said. "Warging into animals isn't uncommon in the north. You don't hear of wargs often anymore, but they used to exist. I know it's easy to pass it off as nonsense and fairytales, but it's the only explanation that makes sense."

Robb thought about it for a long time, running a hand through his curls. "Maybe...perhaps you're right. It just doesn't feel real."

"My dreams are full of things that don't feel real lately," Bran murmured. "And yet I get a sense that they are and they're coming soon."

"They?" Robb asked.

 _The Others,_ Arya thought. Bran had told her he had dreamed of the Others coming south beyond the wall. But Robb was not ready to hear about that yet. He could only barely accept the idea of wargs. Her eldest brother was always very practical.

Bran shrugged. "It's complicated."

"Everything is these days," Robb said. His voice was so exhausted. "So long as you have Summer, you should keep testing this...ability. Maybe by the war's end, you'll have more information."

Bran nodded once, looking relieved that Robb trusted him enough to put some faith in his ideas. "Of course."

At that moment, a messenger interrupted them with a hasty bow. "Forgive me, m'lord. Lord Tywin is waiting for you in your tent."

"I'll be there in a moment," Robb said, clearly still trying to process all of this.

"Yes m'lord." The man bobbed his head. "He says you should bring your sister with you as well."

Robb's brow furrowed as the messenger left. "Why is that?"

Arya ran her fingers along the hilt of her sword. "I...told him I had a plan. I think he wants to hear it."

For a long moment, Robb didn't speak. A lord wouldn't usually take war advice from a lady. Neither would an older brother take war advice from a younger sister. But after a moment of consideration he nodded.

"All right. And what is this plan?"

Just that question made Arya feel a little bit lighter. Her brother was asking her opinion and looking to her council. She couldn't fight in this war with her injuries... but she could advise.

"It would be easier to explain if I had a map."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Time for Arya to HELP WITH THE WAR EFFORT. We'll dive into her plan next time as well as more of the war. But at least Arya is back amongst family and finally having some conversations she has needed to have.**_

 _ **As always, review, subscribe etc. and I'll see you next time!**_


	50. Chapter 50: Setting a Trap

_**A/N: Holy shit guys. Its the fiftieth chapter. How the heck have we made it this far? I don't know, but it's pretty sweet. This chapter actually wasn't terrible to write despite the fact that almost ALL of it involved war strategy, but I was pacing around my apartment like a madwoman trying to come up with it all and also checking a map of the North one thousand times. So hopefully it turned out good. Enjoy!**_

 _ **Also, song of the week is "Rise Up" by Zayde Wolf!**_

 **Chapter 50: Setting a Trap**

Arya used the table to hold herself steady as she looked over the map. Robb had insisted that she sit, but she refused. She had been sitting for the last several days and if she did so for one more moment, she worried she might lose her mind. Instead she gripped the edge and studied the detailed map of the north, reassuring herself that everything was as she remembered.

Three men stood around the table, ready to listen to her plan. Robb, Tywin and Jaime. The only three of the commanders who would take her ideas seriously. But they were enough for now. It was amazing to be listened to at all.

"So," Tywin said. "What is this plan of yours?"

"It will make more sense if you tell Robb about Lord Bolton," Arya glanced up at him. "I assume you haven't yet."

"What about Lord Bolton?" Robb asked, as if confirmation of Arya's words.

Tywin exhaled. "Roose Bolton came to bargain with me shortly before Arya escaped. He hoped to send me back south with Arya and with valuable information."

"What kind of valuable information?" Jaime asked.

"The name of a traitor in the south. Someone who apparently gave information regarding Arya's trip north," Tywin said.

"A traitor in the south." Jaime laughed once. "Well that could be practically _anyone_."

"And why didn't you tell me about this before?" Robb asked. "Did you consider accepting his offer?"

"Don't be ridiculous Robb," Arya said without looking up from the map. "He wouldn't have told _me_ about the meeting if he had. That's not the point."

"What is the point then?" Robb asked.

"The point is that I didn't tell him yes but I didn't tell him no either," Tywin said. "So he still thinks the deal is a possibility. Arya wants me to accept."

"And make him think that you're no longer on our side," Robb realized. "Then he'll think that my army is easy prey."

"Yes," Arya said. "I've been thinking about the timeline of it all. Lord Tywin...when would you say Roose came to your camp? How long ago?"

"A fortnight," Tywin said. "The day before Jaime found you."

"Good. That's good." Arya rubbed her fingers together, thinking. "So Roose Bolton came to you. You suggested that there is chance you will leave if he returns me. If I'm Roose Bolton and I'm desperate enough to try to bargain with a notoriously ruthless lord...what do I do?" She looked up. "I would send a letter to my bastard son asking for him to deliver the hostage to my camp. Then, at least, I would control the hostage, whether I ultimately give the hostage up or not."

"So you think Bolton sent a letter to his son?" Robb asked.

"Yes," Arya said. "In fact, I know it. Because of the wedding." She swallowed hard. "Ramsay told me that he intended to marry me before we left for Winterfell, so I was expecting it. But it seemed rushed. Impulsive. It's not smart to throw a wedding when you've barely managed to secure a castle. There are more important things to deal with." She laughed bitterly. "But his father told him to give up his favorite toy and he lashed out."

"It does put the two of them at odds," Robb said.

"Yes, but what if we pretend that Ramsay _did_ give me up?" Arya asked. "That he upheld his father's deal and tried to smuggle me to his father's camp. Before they could reach him, however, I was intercepted by Lannister men. Fortunately for Lord Bolton, Lord Tywin decided to accept this delivery since I was unharmed."

"It's an idea, but there's a problem," Jaime said. "Ramsay has likely already told Lord Bolton that you escaped and were severely harmed. He'll know we're lying and sniff out the trap."

"Ramsay wouldn't tell his father about this," Arya said. "Never in one hundred years would he admit that he failed. I saw them talk. They're always bickering. Ramsay pushes his father's buttons and his father does the same on and on and on. Terrible way to communicate, especially in front of a hostage." Arya shook her head. "No...Ramsay won't give him _anything_ to use against him if he can help it. He'd rather pretend he still has me. Just like he's pretending he has other hostages."

"Let's say you're correct," Tywin said. "It still isn't certain that Bolton will take the bait. He knows that I am not a man to back down easily when I've been insulted."

"He still tried to bargain with you," Arya pointed out.

"He did. But that does not mean he won't suspect."

"You're right. So we need to ask for a little more than the name of a southern traitor," Arya said. "We'll ask for Ramsay's head."

Tywin paused to consider the idea. Just the pause told Arya that he thought it might work.

"We can't make the price too high or he won't take it," Robb said. "Ramsay is his only son."

"It may seem too high, but maybe not," Jaime said. "Ramsay is a bastard in all but name now. If he is as cruel as he seems, I'm willing to bet that he's kept Lord Bolton from having any true born sons to protect his claim."

"He is exactly as cruel as he seems," Arya said. "Ramsay is a wild dog to Lord Bolton. He said so himself to his face. I heard it. He acts recklessly. He's constantly interrupting his plans. We could offer him a way to get rid of the problem. He can always have more true born sons. And then he doesn't have to worry about becoming a kinslayer himself."

Tywin stroked his chin. "I _would_ have grounds to ask for Ramsay's head. Lord Bolton claimed that the fingers were his bastard's idea. I could claim the boy's life in payment for the insult. That may convince him that I am not bowing too easily to his demands."

For a long moment there was silence. Then Robb conceded with a nod. "All right. So let us then assume that we've convinced Lord Bolton that the Lannisters are no longer a threat to him. What then?"

"Then the real plan begins," Arya said. "Robb, have your scouts had any word of Lord Bolton's movements? Where is his army?"

"Last they reported, he was here," Robb reached out and tapped the map. "In the Sheepshead hills near the White Knife."

"He approached my camp from the northeast. That's in keeping with your reports," Tywin said.

"It's an ideal place from which to attack," Robb said. "He would have the high ground if he managed to bait us into attacking first. If we did, the wet winter would make for a difficult charge."

"And when the Lannister forces move away, it leaves you open to attack from the east," Jaime said.

"Yes, which Lord Bolton will know." Arya leaned forward over the map. "When the Lannister army leaves, Robb will move the northern army into the Lannister position. It's a theoretically stupid move as it leaves you more open to an attack from Lord Bolton. But it will draw him in. They will position themselves on the hills closest to the field." She tapped the map. "Then, they will wait to see what you will do. That's the most important thing. Roose Bolton strikes me as a cautious man. If he can bait his enemy into attacking first when he has the high ground that's _exactly_ what he'll do."

"So he positions himself at the high ground and waits to see if I attack or defend," Robb said. "The smartest thing to do would be to move out of range of Winterfell but force him to come to me on flatter ground. That way if Ramsay Bolton's men tried to attack us from behind, we'd have fair warning and time to move."

"That would be the smart thing," Arya said. "You're not going to do the smart thing."

Robb's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Roose Bolton thinks you're weak, Robb. He thinks you're a hot headed boy who threw away a vow for love." Robb's jaw tensed and Arya hurried on. "But his low opinion of you? That's your greatest weapon against him. And it's how we will lure him into a trap. He'll take his position on the hill, hoping that his presence will goad you into an impulsive attack. And you, overwhelmed by rage and hatred, will do exactly as he suspects. You'll charge up hill, through the mud and he will meet your charge knowing in his heart that he has the numbers and he will beat you." Arya smirked. "And when the Bolton's are fully engaged in battle _that_ is when the Lannister army will return."

"I see," Tywin studied the map. "You want us to attack from the north. From the wolfswood."

"Yes." Arya said. "You'll move south as soon as you've made your deal with Roose Bolton. But before you reach the fork in the White Knife, you'll shift your course west and circle up through the Wolfswood. It will be difficult terrain but you'll go unnoticed. I doubt Lord Bolton has men in the west. He has consolidated his forces for this attack. Besides, all his major allies are in the east. He has less eyes here." She traced her finger along the border of the Wolfswood. You'll make your way north until you reach this point, directly behind the hills. Then, when the time is right, you charge from the trees. Then _you_ will have the high ground and the Boltons will lose half their rear before they know what hit them."

"It will require precise timing," Tywin said. "And my men don't know the difficult terrain. If we cannot get into position in time, the Northern army will break."

"I can send you with a guide," Robb said. "House Glover knows those woods well. With their help, you can get into position within a few days"

"Once we reach the northern woods, we can always give Robb Stark some sort of signal," Jaime said. "If he does not receive the signal then he can keep a defensive position instead."

Tywin nodded once and looked to Arya. "The plan has flaws. It relies a great deal on Roose Bolton playing into our hands...which means it relies a great deal on whether or not you've judged him correctly. And the surprise attack is ruined if any part of my army is spotted in the Wolfswood."

"They're unlikely to search the Wolfswood," Arya said. "They would never expect the Lannisters to use the northern terrain as cover like that. And, like I said, they are focusing on Robb's men. Not yours."

"True enough," Tywin said. "But why shouldn't my army just refuse Lord Bolton's terms and go to war with him openly? We still have the numbers."

"Because..." Arya paused, scrambling for a good answer. "It will mean more Lannister and Stark casualties than necessary. If you attack Roose Bolton head on...well you will win with the numbers. But at a much greater cost. This plan has a higher risk but higher reward. Worst case scenario, they discover our plan and we don't have the element of surprise. Best case scenario, we destroy them in one decisive stroke."

For a long moment, Tywin didn't reply. He stared her down with a nearly unreadable expression. Then, he nodded once. "All right."

Arya let out a breath. "Is it a good plan?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "It's a good plan."

Arya smiled. A real smile in what felt like the first time in months.

"It is a good plan," Robb said. He seemed to be trying to come up with flaws himself, but he found none that Tywin had not already mentioned. "Gods above, Arya, where did you come up with this?"

"I've been thinking about various ways I could crush the Boltons for months. It was the only thing that kept me sane." She laughed once. "Once Lord Tywin told me about Roose Bolton's deal...it all fell into place."

"Let's hope that it falls into place when we put it in action," Jaime said. He was smiling as well, almost proudly. He didn't seem a bit surprised by Arya's strategy.

"It will," Arya said. She had her doubts of course but she wouldn't show them here. "There's one more thing...Jaime do you still have your men from the mission to rescue Bran?"

"Yes," Jaime said. "Nearly all of them survived."

"Then I want you to stay behind in the Wolfswood with me," Arya said. "Along with your men and a few dozen good archers."

"What for?" Robb asked.

Arya looked back down at the map, circling her thumb along the outline of Winterfell. "The best case scenario."

* * *

"So you've considered my proposal," Roose Bolton said when he entered Tywin's tent again. Tywin scrutinized the man, trying to gauge his current state. He was tired, naturally. And though he seemed confident, there was a slight tension and his jaw and shoulders. He wanted this to go well.

"I have," Tywin said. "It seems you were going to make good on your promise. Your son released my ward. I think he meant for her to reach you but my men intercepted her." He tilted his head to the side, studying Roose for a reaction. "Fortunately for you, you were right. She is mostly unharmed besides the fingers."

Roose let out a breath. The smallest breath but Tywin saw it. He was relieved that his son had done as asked. His son did not often follow orders, clearly. Nor did he communicate with his father. It was just as Arya had said. "And now that you have her...do you intend to leave?"

"That depends on you," Tywin said.

"I promised you the name of the traitor when you return to King's Landing. Not before," Roose Bolton said.

"Oh, I know," Tywin said. "And I suspect you'll keep your word. But there's one other thing I want in exchange for my neutrality in this conflict. If you win and take control of Winterfell-you will send me your son's head."

Roose paused for a long moment as if he hadn't heard the words correctly. "And why would I do that?"

"Because he is the one guilty of insulting the Lannister name if what you said is true," Tywin said. "He took my ward. He sent the note with her fingers. He taunted me openly. You didn't imagine I would let that pass, did you?" When Roose didn't reply, Tywin sighed. "Mad dogs have their place in war but not in peace. I trust you to keep order in the north but not that bastard of yours. So if you want me to remain neutral, you will promise me the boy's head."

"Kinslaying is a great crime, my lord," Roose Bolton pointed out.

"I didn't think you shied from those sorts of crimes," Tywin said. "But if kinslaying is where you draw the line then you're welcome to send him with his head to King's Landing. I'll take care of removing it myself." He leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers. "You have plenty of time left for true born sons. And you can't tell me you want a mad dog as your successor."

"No," Roose said. "You're right. He is a wild boy. I've tried to teach him for years but he never quite learns the value of patience." He studied Tywin. "So, if I understand correctly: you will return south tomorrow and stay out of the conflict. When the war is done I will send you the name and my son as payment for the insults against your family. Then our debt is settled."

"Then our debt is settled," Tywin confirmed. "And if you refuse, I will settle our debt in another way."

A long silence stretched between them. The final moments before a deal was struck or denied. Tywin did not give any indication that he cared what Roose Bolton chose. He pretended that it was all the same to him. No matter what happened, he would do what had to be done.

But he did hope that Roose would take the bait. He wanted to see just how well Arya Starks plan played out.

"Very well," Roose said at last. "You have your deal."

"Good," Tywin said. "Then we will leave tomorrow. And you will be free to wage your war."

They stood. They clasped hands. And just like that, the trap was set.

* * *

From the edge of the Wolfswood, Arya and Robb watched the Lannister's leave. Arya was seated against the trunk of an old tree, ignoring how it still hurt to breathe. And Robb stood beside her, his face grim and focused.

"The first part of your plan worked," Robb said. "Now we move to the second."

"It was the first part of my plan that worried me most," Arya said. "But I supposed Lord Tywin played his part well."

"Yes," Robb said. "Interesting...how he listened to your strategy."

"It was a good strategy," Arya pointed out.

"That's not the point," Robb said. "Most wards could be bursting with the most brilliant ideas in the world and their captors would never listen to them. You know it."

Arya shrugged passively.

"The Northern Lords are behind your trap as well. Though at the moment they think it's my plan," Robb continued.

"At the moment," Arya repeated, a note of bitterness in her voice.

"Yes," Robb said. "I will tell them, Arya. I will tell them it was you. I just...I don't want them to question the plan until it succeeds."

Arya exhaled. He was right. The northern lords would question any plan of a sixteen year old girl. She would expect nothing less. And Robb needed their full support. "So we wait for it to work, then surprise them with the truth."

Robb nodded once. "Yes."

For a moment, they lapsed into silence and continued to watch the procession. Then, Arya looked up at her brother. "Robb...someone is going to capture Ramsay before this all over."

Robb nodded.

"It likely won't be me. Not with my injuries," Arya said. "But if it's you, I want you to catch him alive. I want to kill him myself. Or at the very least, I want to watch him die. I want to watch him suffer before he goes. I know you want the same."

"Yes," Robb said. "But capturing him alive may not be possible."

"No. Maybe not," Arya said. "If it isn't...promise you'll make it hurt."

Robb nodded once. "That I _can_ promise."

* * *

 _ **A/N: All righty. The trap is set. And next time it's time for some more WAAAAR. What is Arya's 'best case scenario?' We'll find out. But currently, she's just happy that someone listened to her and that always reading all those war books paid off. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	51. Chapter 51: War for the North (Part 1)

_**A/N: Hello everyone. Soooo I definetily planned to have the full battle in one chapter but then I remembered...oh yeah...battles personally hate me and are trying to drain my life force. So I didn't finish it but I figured you would rather have half of the battle than none of it. So here we are! A battle! Picture me screaming while writing this and you'll understand my mood.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 51: The Battle for the North (Part 1)**

Arya Stark's escape had enraged and delighted Ramsay in equal parts. It was a very confusing little rush of emotions that knocked against each other and left his mind in chaos. On one hand he had _lost_ his only remaining hostage and his men had severely injured her in the process. For all he knew, she could be dead and he didn't even have anything to do with it. It was disappointing and infuriating.

But on the other hand-what an incredible creature that one was. She had killed four of his men with only a knife and threw herself fully off the wall and into the night. He had reached the top of the stairs just in time to the hem of her white dress disappear beyond the stone. And when he reached the edge he watched her limping through the snow, a wounded animal with a coat of ivory and crimson.

One of his soldiers almost had the gall to _shoot_ her in the back and he had knocked the bow off course. He didn't want her killed so _impersonally._ He wanted her back here for the wedding. He wanted her still breathing when he made her his. So he sent men on horses after her. They would find her before the Starks and Lannisters. He was sure.

But then none of them returned. And that was truly a queer thing. She couldn't have fought them off herself, limping like that. A lucky Stark or Lannister patrol must have come across her and killed his men. Which was just as well for them. If they had returned empty handed, Ramsay would have added their bodies to the ramparts.

But seven hells, how could the guards have been so foolish? He was so close to cracking her. So close to seeing the girl beneath the teeth and the armor. And now, to make matters worse, the Lannister army was leaving. He watched their camp disappear and the men stream off toward the south. That could only mean one thing-Arya Stark had been reclaimed by her former captor, Tywin Lannister and was being taken back to King's Landing.

But if she was so terribly injured, why would Tywin Lannister march south and not retaliate? It meant she had lived at least but she must be in quite a state. Was Cersei Lannister right and he only valued the girl for her marriageability? If he valued her any further than that, he would not let this insult stand.

So maybe he didn't value her all that much. Or _maybe_ he was pulling some sort of trick. It would be in character for Tywin Lannister to do so, after all. He had been in support of killing Robb Stark at a wedding, after all.

No...Ramsay didn't trust this from Tywin Lannister. He doubted his father did either but it didn't matter. They had to strike at Robb Stark now if they wanted a chance. If they could at least kill him, they could destabilize the north.

Ramsay studied the letter for a long moment before setting it aside. He called to one of his men. "I want our riders prepared."

"Sir?" the man questioned.

"I suspect this battle with Robb Stark will be interesting," Ramsay said. "And my father might need our assistance if the wind is blowing where I think it is."

"Is it...wise to leave Winterfell unguarded?"

Ramsay laughed once. "I'm not a fool. We're not leaving it unguarded. Just down a few men. It doesn't take many to hold the castle." His grin widened. "Besides...reclaiming the castle isn't what they're after. Not yet. They need to destroy my father's army first before they have a chance."

Ramsay stayed up on the wall for a long time, until the Lannister army had filtered away and the northern army shifted into its place on the eastern side of the keep. They were preparing for an attack from his father, and their guards were faced away from Winterfell rather than toward it.

 _It's going to come to an end soon,_ Ramsay thought. _One way or another._

* * *

Two days after the Lannister departure, Robb saw Roose Bolton's army appear on the hill, exactly where Arya had predicted. And, just as Arya predicted, they did not charge immediately. They waited to see what Robb would do. Waited to see if he had a defensive or offensive strategy. No doubt, Roose had a plan for both possibilities. He was a man of careful planning, after all. He had been planning this damned betrayal for many years.

As soon as he appeared, Robb's men snapped into action. They knew the formation. They knew exactly what to do, and they had been waiting for the past two days for the beginning of this final battle. Very shortly, Robb had his formation. He had divided his meager remaining cavalry into two parts-one for the first charge and one for the rear, to protect the archers in case of an attack from behind. The infantry, particularly the pikemen, guarded their flanks in case Roose Bolton's cavalry tried to cut in from the sides. Even though Robb meant to attack, he knew that a defensive position was necessary if he was to survive long enough for the Lannisters to arrive.

That was the real question. It had been over two days since they left. The Glovers said that two days should be plenty of time to work their way through the Kingswood. It would take less time if they went on little rest. They hadn't received a signal yet but...

But if they waited too long, Roose would leave the hill and go onto the attack.

 _They'll make it,_ Robb decided. _Tywin Lannister wouldn't let his men fall behind. And the Glovers know the area well. They'll make it._

Robb took his place with the rear cavalry and drew his sword. It shone mid-afternoon light. Clean for now but soon to be slick with blood. This was not his first battle and yet his sword had never felt heavier.

"This bloody civil war is almost at its end, one way or another," he called out. "Let's remind them of the strength of loyal houses."

The army let out a roar that rang across the fields like thunder. Robb gripped his sword tight in his hand, steeling himself. Then they advanced.

They started at a steady pace, waiting to see if Lord Bolton would charge before they reached him. He didn't he stayed still, prepared to meet them. From this distance, Robb could make out a line of archers on the front line.

 _A defensive position,_ Robb thought. _He was hoping for a charge. Hoping for me to do the foolish thing._

Thus far, Arya had been reading Roose Bolton quite well. He truly didn't think very highly of Robb. That was fine. Once Roose's armies lay in ruin and his head was removed from his shoulders, it would not matter what he thought.

As they neared the hills, Robb called for a charge. The army picked up its pace and the first line of cavalry charged at the Bolton men.

Then the enemy army split. The Boltons stayed in their place, supported by the Ryswells and the Lockes at their flanks. And the Karstarks and Umber broke apart, the first moving left, the second moving right. They circled the northern army as they charged. Then, before they could even reach the Boltons, they shifted their course and charged Robb's army from either side.

"Defend the flanks!" he cried out. The pikemen on the right and left side shifted their course, turning to face their once friends and allies. But some turned too late and the line broke, allowing a few Umbers and Karstarks to cut a gash through the Stark loyalists. But it was just few enough that they could cut them from their horses. The spear men filled in the gaps quickly to keep the enemy at bay.

Through the clang of steel and screams of dying men, Robb thought he heard the cry of 'Archers'!

"Shields up!" one of his generals cried in response, and the men at the center threw up their shields in time to deflect arrows from the Bolton side. They had kept their men back and let the Umbers and Karstarks entrap them. Then they had used their archers to take shots into the center in hopes that the Starks would not have time to react. Some did not. A few paces from Robb, a man took an arrow through the skull and fell from his horse.

Arya had predicted much of Roose Bolton's actions it seemed. But she was wrong on one thing-he did not wait for the northmen to reach the hill or get anywhere close to him. He did not need to use the terrain with the numbers and he was able to keep well away from the main fighting by using the Umbers and Karstarks to grasp him in the jaws of death. And any Stark loyalists that escaped to charge Roose? Then they would face a hill and a row of hundreds of archers.

They had archers too of course and Robb called for them in that moment. "Archers! Shift to the center, away from the rear. Rear guard, defend the archers!" He could already see the Umbers and Karstarks were trying to get around behind the Stark army and if they did, they would be surrounded on all sides. "Aim for the Bolton archers! If we can't kill them, they can pick us off one by one."

They did and Robb saw many of the enemy fall. But when they collapsed, more stepped forward in their place. They had more archers than the Stark loyalists by half and plenty to outlast them.

 _We need the Lannisters,_ Robb thought. _Seven Hells, we need the Lannisters soon._

* * *

Robb Stark had the northern recklessness in him just like his sister. He was fortunate that Tywin had arrived in the northern Wolfswood, or else his army could have been defeated before help even arrived.

Fortunately, Tywin was there and his scouts were able to report the beginning of the battle.

"The Karstarks and Umbers are surrounding the Starks," one of his generals said. "The Bolton's are staying back and letting their allies do the work for them. They're using archers to pick off the northern loyalists."

"The Boltons have their backs to us, yes?" Tywin asked.

"Yes," the general said.

"Good," Tywin said. "We'll give them a taste of our archers. Then our cavalry right after that. Scatter them."

And so they did. In the thick of the battle, just as the northerners seemed surrounded with no way out, the Lannisters arrived. Their arrows silenced many of the rear guard before they even knew what would happen. And those that escaped the arrows only had moments to turn and register the calvary charging them. By the time they took up a warning cry it was too late.

The Lannisters charged right down the middle, a knife of red and gold amongst the grey of the northern winter. The Bolton men scattered, but they did not scatter in chaos. Some of their numbers panicked turned to flee to the woods, only to be met with a line of archers who dropped them in an instant. But most reacted quickly and with purpose. They seemed to understand that they might be attacked from behind, which meant that Roose Bolton had suspected some foul play. The army split right down the middle, half joining the Karstarks and half joining the Umbers. They still had the northern loyalists caught in a trap. They were trying to kill as many of them as possible before the Lannisters could counter.

But Tywin had predicted this as well. Roose Bolton was a smart man and adaptable. Naturally, if he suspected something, this would be his plan. But Tywin Lannister had given his men similar instructions. If the Bolton army split, they were to split as well and pursue them, forcing them away from the northern army.

 _You're quick to react,_ Tywin thought. _But we still have the numbers. And now the high ground._

The Bolton's weren't going anywhere.

* * *

The lions had returned and it filled most of the men in Winterfell with fear. But Ramsay...it filled him with glee. He was not one to feel terror at an exciting new development. Not at all. This, like all things, was an opportunity.

It lowered their chances of success of course. In fact, it practically guaranteed that the Boltons would be wiped from Westeros with nothing but a memory remaining. But the question was now...how would they go?

When he heard that the Lannisters had come from the Wolfswood to the north, he laughed. And then he gathered his riders and prepared to leave. Because if the Lannisters had attacked from the woods, Tywin Lannister was likely there.

 _Perhaps I could meet him,_ Ramsay said. _Perhaps I could kill him. That would shake things up._

Tywin Lannister was the strength of the west after all. What would happen to his armies if he fell?

"Open the gate!" Ramsay called out. "We're going to assist my father."

 _And perhaps, we'll slay a lion as we do._

* * *

Arya had been waiting for this. For exactly this moment. Jaime and his men had been waiting right along with her, along with the two dozen archers her brother had left. And Bran...Bran had been her eyes.

She didn't understand Bran's strange new abilities any more than she understood her own. But when his eyes rolled back in his head, she waited with him until he returned and gave his report.

"Ramsay is preparing his riders," Bran said when his eyes snapped back into place. "You were right. He's going to leave."

Arya's lips curled into half a smile, half a snarl. Her blood was singing with a sudden rush of excitement. "Good. Then we're prepared too. Which gate?"

"The north gate," Bran said.

"All right," Arya said. "We'll have plenty of tree cover there. We can hide and then, when they leave, we'll have our chance."

"Your instincts always seem to lead us somewhere good," Jaime commented. "I'll get the men into position. Let's hope your best case scenario plays out.

Yes. The best case scenario. Ramsay leaving Winterfell gave them one window of opportunity to storm the castle and take it back while they were unprepared. All eyes would be on the fight from a far and no one was expecting the Starks to make a play on Winterfell before taking care of the larger army.

But Arya needed to find Sansa and the children and she needed to tear her home out of Ramsay's hands. They had the archers. They had the element of surprise. They had a chance that they could do this.

The northern gate began to open and the soldiers prepared themselves to take advantage. Arya only regretted that they could not kill Ramsay right then. But Winterfell was more important than killing him. She could be patient.

Robb could handle catching Ramsay.

* * *

In the midst of the chaos of battle, orders became meaningless. Robb could shout until his lungs gave out and most of his soldiers would not hear him. They were too busy fighting for their lives, killing the soldiers that used to be their allies. The air was thick with the stench of blood and drowned out by screams and scraping steel.

The arrival of the Lannisters brought relief but it did not save the northern army. Not yet. They still had to break out of this trap.

Miraculously, Robb had not yet left his horse, and he tried to rally the rear cavalry that still had theirs. Not many men but perhaps enough. There was a hole in the Karstark flank that might allow them to break the line and make way for a northern retreat and regroup.

"Break through!" he called out into the cacophony of noise. "Target the Karstarks and break through!"

Those that heard him joined him in the charge, mowing over the few Karstark infantry which blocked them. Robb broke out of the choke hold with a gasp and wheeled his horse around at once. Other northerners were quickly taking advantage of the gap to move out of the way and the Lannsiter army was starting to sweep over the Umber and Karstark flanks, running them down.

 _We'll win,_ he thought. _This is going to work._

He turned to look for the Bolton army. Many had split off and gone to support the Umber and Karstark flanks. He couldn't see Roose Bolton in the chaos but he could see-

Robb's blood went cold. Along the perimeter of the Wolfswood, there were riders heading for the Lannister rear. And he recognized the one at the front. Ramsay Bolton. He had left Winterfell.

 _Arya's best case scenario._

All at once, Robb felt white hot anger stab through him like a knife twisting in his chest. He urged his horse into a gallop and tore after the riders as quickly as he could. He had promised Arya that he would bring Ramsay alive or give him a painful death.

And at this moment, he knew which one he would choose.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Man, breaking the battle here I realize how many cliffhangers I accidentally left. And for that I deeply apologize but...I haven't skipped a Monday yet and I wasn't gonna fucking start now because I've come this far and I refuse. On the plus side, this is still nearly 3,000 words of battle so it's not like I didn't give you anything lol.**_

 _ **So the rest of the battle will come at you thursday and I can't wait because then that means I don't have to write battles for awhile (thank god. Praise be). As always, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	52. Chapter 52: War for the North (Part 2)

_**A/N: Me: *finishes the last battle scene for awhile and throws it into the void* FREEEEEDOOOOMM. Nah but really, this arc isn't done yet, but I'm just glad to get these damn scenes out of the way. Thanks for everyone supporting me through this writing process though. This battle part is even longer than the last, so it's a good thing I split them.**_

 _ **Also, I've gotten a lot of new readers this time around so *waves* welcome aboard! So glad you're all here to give me a chance :) Shout out to the reviewer who read this in two days despite being in med school. You are a hero to me!**_

 _ **Anyway, hope you guys like this chapter. The song of the day is 'Revolution' by the Score. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 52: The Battle for the North (part 2)**

Arya could not take part in the fighting. Nearly everyone who cared about her wellbeing had made that clear at some point or another. Her mother, both of her brothers, Tywin, Jaime...They had all seen fit to remind he not to join the battle, just in case she happened to forget her still healing injuries.

Of course, Arya wasn't a fool. She knew that if she tried to fight, she would only hurt herself further or get killed. But still she felt a rush of battle lust as the gates of Winterfell creaked slowly open.

Jaime and his men were hidden carefully in the trees and none of them dared stir as their path revealed itself. Arya busied herself with counting. She counted the number of archers visible over the north gate. Twelve. Most of the archers were concentrated at the eastern side, closest to the battle. The Lannister men would have the element of surprise if they went through the northern gate.

She counted the seconds too. The seconds it took for the gate to open. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Then she held her breath as the riders burst from the keep.

Ramsay was at their lead, spurring his horse at a full gallop to reach the battle. His riders followed behind him, oblivious to their surroundings or anyone near the keep. They were not expecting a counter attack. They were focused on the task ahead of them, not the keep behind them.

"Hold," Jaime whispered under his breath. "Wait..."

They waited. They waited until every rider had left the keep and was on their way toward the battle. Then Jaime snapped his fingers.

His men sprang for their cover and ran at a dead sprint for the keep. At the very same moment, their archers rose and took aim at the men above the gate. They felled eight with their first shots, leaving only four fumbling to knock arrows in their bows in time to shoot the sudden attackers. Arya watched as Jaime's men ducked and rolled under the gate before it closed. She counted how many made it in.

 _-Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven._

The last only barely made it under when the gate closed. A cry went up from inside the keep as at once Winterfell was thrown into chaos. With a second volley of arrows, their archers had removed all but one of the Bolton defenders from the wall. The last defender had ducked below to hide from the arrows, knowing he would be dead if he presented himself as a target again. The Lannister men who hadn't made it through the gate pressed along the outside, waiting for an opening.

Arya pressed her left fist hard against the ground. "Eleven won't be enough to take the castle."

"If they get the gate open again, it won't just be eleven," Jaime said.

Arya nodded once and held her breath again. She waited for the gate to creak, counting the seconds, feeling her heart beat grow more painful as the time stretched on and she listened to the clash of steel inside of her home.

Then the gate began to open again

At once, Arya felt the rush of relief and determination. Followed by a rise of what she could only describe as blood lust. Her vision blacked out. One moment, she was staring at the gate and the next she was running for it. Strangely, she seemed to be running on all fours, a deep snarl rattling her whole body. She was not a girl anymore. She was a wolf. And ripped from the trees, and shot past the open gate at once, thirsty for a taste of Bolton blood.

She skidded across the mud, whipping her head around, looking for anyone wearing a Bolton symbol. As soon as she saw them, she leapt upon them, knocking them to the ground beneath her great weight and tearing their throats from their bodies. She killed one soldier and then scrambled to kill another as quickly as possible. And she counted the number that fell.

 _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six._

Something sharp bit into her haunches and she whirled around to snap at a terrified soldier. He stumbled back, only to have a sword driven through the back of the skull. Jaime had entered the courtyard and he looked at her with a sort of bewilderment.

 _Perhaps he has never seen a girl turn into a wolf before,_ Arya thought. Then again, she wasn't sure how she had turned into a wolf. Perhaps it was the warging, like Bran said. She and Nymeria became of one mind with a common goal.

And that goal was to rip Bolton's apart.

* * *

The Bolton army was beginning to fall to pieces. As soon as the Lannister's had appeared on the field, their weakness had shown itself. But then Roose Bolton took a bolt beneath his armpit and toppled from his horse. Once Lannister men had taken him hostage, the northern rebels had no one left to lead them. It cut the head off of their rebellion.

That was the favorable outcome. But unfortunately, the bolt that toppled Roose had brought him to death's door. As Tywin looked down at his opponent, he could see already that the Lord of the Dreadfort did not have much longer to live. He was deathly pale and glassy eyed, struggling to even stay on his knees.

"I suspected a trick from you," Roose Bolton muttered. "You never were an honest man."

"No," Tywin said. "So why didn't you forgo your plan?"

"We had no choice...but to take a chance. This was our best...opportunity." Pain weighed heavily on his words. "And the battle is not over yet."

"It will be soon and you know it." Tywin shifted on his horse. "But while you still draw breath, you could end it. Tell your men to surrender." He looked down at his opponent coldly. "Or better yet, give me the name of the traitor."

Roose Bolton let out a hoarse laugh. Blood sprayed from his mouth. The arrow, it seemed, had punctured a lung. "I don't think I'll do either of those things. You may subdue my men and my allies without my help. And as for the name...you deserve to discover it all on your own, Lord Tywin. I only regret...that I won't be able to be there when you do."

Tywin tightened his grip on the reigns, but he did not show his anger other than that. It was no use questioning him further. Roose Bolton had made up his mind, and he could not torture an answer out of him. He would not live long enough for that. And if torture was necessary, his bastard son was always an option. He likely knew the name of the traitor as well.

"Take him away," Tywin said at last. "Let him succumb to his wounds."

The men who had retrieved Roose Bolton from the battlefield nodded and dragged him to his feet. The man could barely keep steady as they led him a way. Tywin guessed he would have less than an hour left.

"Some of the northern traitors have begun to throw down their swords," one of his generals, Lord Crakehall, said. "Shall we accept their surrender?"

"I highly doubt Robb Stark will let them live if you do," Tywin said. "But it is his home. The north should see him deal with his own traitors. It's the only way they will see him as strong."

Lord Crakehall nodded. "Very well."

"Lord Tywin!" A scout rode to meet them, his expression urgent. "You asked for me to watch the situation at Winterfell."

"Yes, and?"

"Your son's men have infiltrated the castle. The victor is unclear at this time but the Bolton's left Winterfell with few defenders."

Tywin's brow furrowed. "That means Ramsay Bolton has brought riders to the field. Where are they?"

A wild cry answered his question. He looked up to see riders breaking through the trees, headed toward him and the line of command.

But they would not have such an easy time of it. Tywin was not a fool. He had kept many of his soldiers back in the woods in case the enemy tried to mount attack on his forces in the woods. At once his soldiers reformed a line in front of him, prepared to face the riders. Lord Crakehall galloped toward the men, shouting commands.

"Hold steady! Beat them back!"

Tywin back his horse up a few steps, watching as the archers took their places, ready to defend. In a volley of arrows, they knocked several riders from their mounts and sent just as many horses squealing into the dirt. He looked for Ramsay Bolton among them. He did not know what the boy looked like, only that he greatly resembled his dying father, but he suspected he would be at the lead.

There was no clear leader though, and no face that spoke to being Roose Bolton's blood. Tywin's brow furrowed. This was a clumsy, desperate attack from the Boltons, especially since it required them leaving Winterfell undefended. If this was all they meant to do-

Then Tywin heard a horse behind him, and the scrape of steel on steel. He looked back in time to see a lone rider charging him.

 _There he is._

Tywin was not a swordsman. He used to be a long time ago, when he was a knight and not a lord. But what remained of his skills was rusted muscle memory. Ramsay was clearly not rusted as he charged him and Tywin narrowly wheeled his horse around in time to avoid the blow. He raised his sword and blocked the second strike. For a moment, Ramsay Bolton paused, his eyes nearly glowing with malice.

"If you had only turned a moment later..." he muttered.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Tywin replied flatly.

Ramsay's mouth twisted into an awful grin. "That's all right...you can make up for it."

He drew a small dagger with his left hand then. Tywin saw his move a second before it happened. He was aiming for the weak point in his armor under his arm. She shoved away from the blade but not before Ramsay managed a deep cut in his side. Pain pulsed through him where the blade had bit, but it was a minor wound at worst. Nothing compared to the wound Roose Bolton had suffered.

Still, it had thrown him off course, and Ramsay was quick to counter with another blow with his knife. Tywin narrowly backed his horse out of range. In a one on one fight, he would not win against this man. He knew that all ready. But his soldiers had been distracted by the suicide charge of his riders. It was a better play than expected.

He gripped his sword, preparing to block another blow.

Then, another rider joined the fight. One moment Ramsay was sitting on a horse beside Tywin. The next he was falling from his mount to avoid a sword. And Tywin looked up to see Robb Stark leaping from his horse to meet the bastard in the mud.

 _That's the second time a Stark child has saved me,_ he thought. _Ned Stark must be turning in his tomb._

* * *

Robb saw red when he saw Ramsay. That he was attacking Lord Tywin was rather incidental. He only wanted Ramsay off his horse, on the ground, at his mercy.

When his swing forced Ramsay to throw himself from his horse, Robb abandoned his mount too. He did not need it to fight Ramsay. He splashed down into a puddle of mud as Ramsay picked himself up, his teeth barred like a mangy dog.

 _You are a dog. I am a wolf,_ Robb thought, turning his sword in his hand.

"Kind of you to come deal with me yourself, Lord Stark" Ramsay hissed. "If I can't put Lord Tywin in the ground, I'm happy to put you there."

"Not if I put you there first," Robb growled.

He struck out at Ramsay but the bastard avoided him. He was quick. Though he did not wield a sword with as much grace and skill as any great knight, he had his speed on his side. He did not wear heavy armor which allowed him to be even faster, but that just meant he had more weak spots.

Robb advanced on him, striking out several times and quick succession. Ramsay dodged many of the blows before trying to block the last. The strength of Robb's swing launched the sword from his hand. Ramsay spun away from the next jab and drew a knife, turning it in his hand with practiced ease. If he was average with a sword, he was an expert at a knife. Robb was forced to lean back to avoid a quick jab at his face.

"Swordsmen always neglect this little weapon," Ramsay grinned. "It can't block your sword, no, but it can sneak through the gaps in your defenses as well as any blade." He tilted his head to the side. "And it's good for flaying."

An image of Tailisa's body flashed through Robb's head then. An image of her flayed corpse hanging over Winterfell. Robb let out a snarling sound and lunged at Ramsay again. But his swing was wild. Ramsay twisted around him and struck out at his sword hand. He cut just deep enough at the wrist that Robb lost his grip on his sword. That was fine. He seized Ramsay's knife hand at the next stab and head butted him as hard as he could.

For a moment, Robb's vision blacked out but he did not stop moving. He threw Ramsay to the ground, drew back his fist and punched him in the face with all his might. Then again. Then again. Ramsay tried to raise his knife hand but Robb seized the blade from him before he could use it, driving it into his left shoulder. He kept punching. He kept wailing on him over and over again just so he could see the blood spurt from his nose and mouth.

If it had been left to him, he might have punched him to death.

But in the midst of it, a hand grabbed his wrist and stopped him. "Lord Stark. He's beaten. Still yourself."

Robb whirled to glare up at Tywin Lannister. "He's not dead so he's not beaten."

"Believe me, he will die," Tywin said. "But his father is dead. He's the only one who can tell us about the traitor in the south who had designs on ruining your family." The old lion's gaze was steady and his voice was calm despite his injury. "So keep him alive. For now."

Robb blinked a few times as he considered the words, even in the midst of his bloodlust. They needed to know the name of the traitor, especially when they could be a further threat to the north. It would be ideal to keep Ramsay alive and torture the information out of him. That would be the kind of slow death he deserved.

And he had promised Arya...that he would try to bring him back alive.

Slowly, he stood and backed away from Ramsay. The bastard did not rise, though he was still conscious. The blows had clearly dazed him.

Robb looked around and saw that quite a crowd had begun to form as he fought-some northern soldiers prepared to step in and some Lannister soldiers as well. Tywin ordered some of his men to seize and bind Ramsay so that he could be "delivered back to Winterfell."

"Back to Winterfell," Robb repeated.

"Yes, we just received word," Tywin said. "My son's men made it inside the castle. Odds are that they were successful in their venture."

Robb exhaled, hardly daring to believe it. Roose Bolton was dead. Ramsay Bolton captured. And Winterfell might once again be theirs.

It was...almost over.

* * *

The darkness of the crypt was beginning to drive Sansa mad. It had been well over a month since she had seen the sun, and she longed for it again. But she stayed put, no matter the temptation to breathe the fresh air. She stayed put to keep the children safe, all the while living in fear that they would be discovered.

Then one morning-or afternoon or evening, she couldn't tell the time anymore-someone did enter the crypt. Brienne raised her sword and Shaggy Dog growled. At the end of the crypt, there was a shadow and it did not look like Maester Luwin. It looked like a soldier.

Sansa tensed and drew the children closer to her. Shaggy Dog snapped at the air.

"It's all right," the shadow spoke gently. "It's all right, Lady Brienne. It's me."

Brienne lowered her sword slightly. "Ser Jaime?"

Sansa's eyes widened. Jaime Lannister? What was he doing here? If he was here then...

"Yes," Jaime took a few steps forward into the dim lantern light. His eyes rested on Sansa. "So you were in the crypts. Your brother said as much."

"Bran?" Sansa murmured.

"Yes," Jaime said. "It's all right. You can come out of the crypts now. The battle for the north is nearly at its end. And we've taken the castle back."

Sansa hardly dared to believe it. "Are you...are you sure?"

"I would not be standing here if we hadn't won," Jaime said.

Sansa let out a relieved breath, standing slowly to her feet. Ned stood with her, tugging at her skirts.

"Aunt Sansa? Do we finally get to leave?" he asked.

"Yes, Ned," she whispered through her tears of relief. "We do."

* * *

Arya opened her eyes and found herself in the middle of the Winterfell courtyard, lying in a cart. She jolted into a sitting position, ignoring the pain of her wounds slicing through her, and looked around. She looked around for flags. For soldiers. Who was here? The Starks? The Lannister? The Boltons?

Her gaze settled on a man in a red Lannister cloak, dragging the body of a Bolton soldier to a larger pile. Another Lannister man walked along the ramparts. They seemed calm. Collected. They would not be so calm if they had lost.

 _Did we...did we really win?_ She thought.

Arya scrambled from the cart, gripping onto the side of it to steady herself. But before she could take another step, she found herself face to face with a wolf. Her wolf. Nymeria stood in front of her, looking deep into her eyes, the same way she had on that day so many years ago when Arya told her to run. She was so much larger now, and fiercer. The kind of creature that could tear men to pieces. And yet she was the same wolf pup from her childhood.

"Hey girl," Arya whispered. She slowly reached out one gloved hand. "It's been awhile."

Nymeria did not reply. For a moment she did not move either backwards or forwards. Arya feared she might turn and flee, leaving her alone again.

But then her wolf stepped forward, nudging her hand with her nose. Arya shuddered and let her fingers slide through her fur.

"That's it..." she murmured. "We're all right now."

To her right, she heard her mother cry out in relief. She turned to see Sansa stepping cautiously out of the crypts. In her arms she held little Ben, and Lyanna and Ned walked behind her, clinging to her dress. In a moment, Sansa had run into their mother's arms, embracing her tightly. Little Lyanna laughed and tugged at Catelyn's dress and she scooped her up into an embrace. They were all well. They were okay.

Sansa met Arya's eyes from across the courtyard and let out a laugh mixed with a sob. Arya smiled in return just as the tears began to fall. It seemed there was a tear for each emotion she felt. Exhaustion. Relief. Regret. Hope. And so many shades in between.

In the middle of the Winterfell courtyard, Arya sank to her knees beside her wolf and let the tears fall, relishing in her family's rare victory.

After all this pain...they had won.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Ah, the relief of victory. We'll get more into the aftermath of the battle next time, along with reunions of Robb getting to know his kids aren't dead. And injury treating and all of that good stuff. Ramsay is still alive but for how long?**_

 _ **Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	53. Chapter 53: Aftermath

_**A/N: Wassup, guys! You're getting the chapter early today because my school's wifi has started being weird and not letting me on all of the sudden. The glitch might have fixed itself by now but I didn't want to risk it and have you all not get your chapter til late. So it's here early!**_

 _ **Lot's of interactions in this one and it's reasonably long. So, hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 53: Aftermath**

The bodies lay thick across the battlefield, turning the snow beneath them crimson. In the aftermath, it was hard to tell which corpses belonged to northern loyalists and northern traitors. They were all men who had fought beside Robb at one time or another. Then some had turned on him. Others had fought with him. And now they all rotted on the battlefield. The traitors who had not died had surrendered or fled. Most of them would be dead soon as well.

There were Lannister bodies scattered amongst the northerners-westerlanders who had given their blood for peace in the north. It would have been easy enough for Tywin to take Arya and return south at Roose's offering. He could have left the north to deal with its own rebellion, just as he had left Robb to deal with the Greyjoys. Whether for their lord's pride or politics or some other reason, the men of the west had stayed and fought and died.

How time could change things. Not long ago, Robb would have rejoiced to see Lannister's bleed. Now they bled as his allies.

Tywin Lannister was bleeding too, but not to the death. Ramsay Bolton had managed a deep cut beneath his arm with a knife, and the man kept a red cloth pressed over the wound to stem the bleeding as he approached Robb on horseback.

"You should see to that," Robb commented.

"I will," Tywin said. "I've had worse wounds. There's no need to worry."

"I'm not worrying. Just stating a fact," Robb replied. "Any word from your son?"

"Yes. Winterfell is secure and the Bolton traitors captured or killed."

Robb nodded once, trying not to let relief show on his face. But there was doubt in his heart as well. No one had mentioned anything yet about his children and Robb was too afraid to ask and find out they had been dead all along. "Winterfell is open to you and your generals as well," Robb said. "Until you are ready to leave. I expect your soldiers need rest before they make the journey home. The march through the Wolfswood is trying."

"Yes, they will rest," Tywin said. "But we won't burden you for long before we march. Our tents are accommodations enough. There's no need for you to force courtesies."

"I'm not forcing courtesies. I am paying a debt," Robb said. "If your men had not arrived on the battlefield, Roose Bolton would have overwhelmed us."

"By my recollection, you already paid that debt a short time ago," Tywin pointed out.

That was right...Robb had inadvertently saved Tywin Lannister's life when he attacked Ramsay. He hadn't meant to, but he had all the same. "I paid my debt to you. Not to your other generals," he said at last. "So Winterfell is open to you. I insist."

Tywin inclined his head and did not argue further. "With any luck, we can get a name from Ramsay Bolton before we march."

"I hope we can," Robb said flatly. "Once we have the name, his miserable life will no longer be necessary."

"No," Tywin said. "But don't be hasty. He does not deserve the mercy of a quick death."

"He won't have one," Robb vowed.

A rider approached them then, and Robb turned to see Jaime Lannister on its back. He gave Robb a nod and cast a glance at his father's side. "You're wounded."

"Only slightly," Tywin said. "I'll have a maester see to it soon."

"You have my thanks, Ser Jaime," Robb said. "For securing Winterfell in my absence."

"It was your sister's plan," Jaime said. "If she could stand, I'm sure she would have led the charge herself. But all the same you're welcome." He shifted on his horse. "Actually, I'm here because your sister sent me. She asks you return at once."

"Why? Is Arya all right?" Robb asked.

"She's fine. She wasn't the sister who sent me. It was the lady Sansa," Jaime said. "Your children have been asking for you."

Robb felt a shudder go through his body. _My children..._

God's above, could they truly be alive?

* * *

Robb passed beneath the north gates of Winterfell, trying not to let the desperation show on his face. He knew that everyone was watching him. His followers, his enemies, his family. He tried to keep his head high and his expression controlled as he swung from horse.

Already, the soldiers had begun the task of removing the bodies from the ramparts and covering them with cloth. Robb knew that Tailisa was among them but he could not look for her now. As he stepped into the courtyard, he looked around for a familiar face. He caught sight of his mother, who approached and rested a hand on her arm.

"Mother...where...?" he asked in a soft voice.

"They're in the Godswood," Catelyn murmured. "Go on. I'll oversea things here until you're done."

Robb nodded and strode off toward the Godswood as quickly as he could without looking frantic. He passed through the gate and into the familiar woods of his childhood. Even at a distance, he caught a flash of red hair. Sansa's red hair. She was sitting by the pool with two children at her side and a baby in her arms. A baby who had grown a great deal since Robb had last seen him.

He let out a ragged breath and Sansa back at him, a sad smile on her face. She leaned down to whisper something to the children.

Ned and Lyanna turned then and locked onto him with their big, beautiful eyes. Their skin was pale from over a month in the crypt but they were healthy and strong. And smiles split their faces as if they had never known the war at all.

"Father!"

His son and daughter scrambled toward him and Robb fell to his knees, catching them both up in his arms. He clung onto them tightly, trying to keep back his tears.

"Home," Lyanna rejoiced. "You're _home_."

"I'm home," he murmured. "I'll be home for some time now. I'm sorry I went away."

Sansa stood and approached them, holding little Ben in her arms. Robb stood to receive him. "Ah...you've grown so much, Ben." He pulled him into his arms. The baby reached out a hand, grasping at his nose. "I'm sorry I was gone for so long. I'm so sorry." He looked up at Sansa. "Thank you for protecting them."

Sansa shook her head. "Of course. I'm sorry that I couldn't..." she trailed off, unable to find the words. Robb rested a hand on her upper arm.

"You have no blame for that, Sansa."

Ned tugged on Robb's cloak. "Father...Aunt Sansa says that...that mother won't be coming home."

A fresh wave of pain rolled over Robb. He looked from Ned to Sansa who had a helpless expression her face. It was not easy explaining death to such young children. How could one really understand when someone they loved was alive one minute and dead the next?

"Why?" Ned asked. "Why did she leave us? Did we do something wrong?"

"No," Robb said. "No, you did nothing. She didn't want to leave you, believe me. She was taken away from us." He ruffled his son's hair. "And if she could, she would fight her way back to you. She loved you all so much."

Ned's eyes filled with tears. "But I want...I want to see her again. Just one more time."

Robb shook his head. He knew perfectly well that it was impossible to see her. The children would not be able to bare what she looked like now. "I'm sorry. But you can't." He knelt again, drawing his eldest son close. "I'm sorry, Ned."

His boy clung to him and wept against his shoulder. Lyanna did not weep, for she did not seem to understand. And little Ben had likely already forgotten his mother's face. But Ned knew. And Ned cried.

Winterfell belonged to the Starks again, and they had one the war. But victory was never without its losses.

* * *

The battle for the north had been won and Winterfell reclaimed, but the war was not over. The fates of the traitors had yet to be decided and some had even escaped when they fled on the battlefield. And even after all of the treachery was burned out, it would leave a scar on the north. Perhaps a scar that would last all throughout Robb's reign.

Arya was unable to watch the trials as she was recovering in bed and not allowed to wander until Maester Luwin gave her his approval. But she heard what happened from Bran, who visited her often.

"All of those who took up swords for the Boltons are set to die," Bran said. "He will not give them the opportunity to take the black. They are too treacherous for that. The Boltons who took Winterfell are already hanging in the Wolfswood. They did not have clean deaths."

"Good," Arya said. "They did not deserve it." She flipped her knife between her fingers. "What about the other families. Umbers, Karstarks, Ryswells, Lockwoods."

"Death for the lords," Bran said. "But the soldiers have the choice to join the watch. Robb says it would be unwise to deprive the wall of so many soldiers in this time. He'll pass the Umber's holdings onto the Umbers who remained at the wall to assist in the battle against the wildlings. They have proven themselves true. But the other traitors will have their holdfasts distributed to Stark loyalists and their children given as wards to various northern lords. Robb says that since his children were spared, so will be the children of the traitors. A fair exchange."

Arya nodded once. It was fair. To allow the traitor's families to keep their castles and subjects would only show weakness and allow for another vengeful rebellion in a few years' time. But Robb did not stoop to killing innocents. The loyal houses would not respect him if he had.

The Lannisters had stayed out of the decision entirely. Though Tywin was present for some of the discussion, he did not voice his opinion. Only watched. He must've known that if he asserted himself, he would make Robb look weak in comparison. The only time when he did speak was when Robb told the northern lords about Arya's engagement to Jaime.

Arya exhaled, leaning back against her pillow. "I can't tell you how happy I am that I wasn't present for that. How did they react?"

"They didn't like it," Bran said. "But after the battle, there was very little they could say. Besides, this is Tywin solidifying the Lannister truce with the Starks. With everything in such chaos, the north needs the support of the west and the crown. That's what Robb said anyway."

"Was Jaime there for that meeting?" Arya asked.

"No. Conveniently absent."

Arya laughed once. "Good. So Robb didn't throw him to the wolves."

Bran's mouth twitched into a smile. "Some of the northern lords were surely disappointed though. After your strategy played out so well, I think some were keen to engage you to their sons."

"So Robb did tell them...that it was my plan." Arya looked out the window. "Were they doubtful?"

"A few of them," Bran said. "But it would be a strange thing for Robb to lie about. Then when Lord Tywin confirmed it...well they knew that he wouldn't give credit to someone else unless it was due."

Arya barely smiled. "That's true."

Still, the losses could not be overstated. Tailisa was one such loss, but many of the innocent civilians of Winterfell had been butchered as well. Hodor had been spared, but only because the Bolton soldiers found him entertaining. They found him chained in the yard, crying out his name over and over again, and he still could not sleep through the night. And Osha...Osha had only survived the reclaiming of the keep by a few hours.

"She helped to open the gate again when the Lannister men were fighting off Boltons," Bran murmured, his left hand curling around the three fingers on his fight. "She took an arrow. I found her there through Summers eyes and Maester Luwin did what he could but...but I watched her die." Bran's eyes glistened with tears. "She always defended us. Protected us. She helped us survive the Greyjoys. I was so sure she would survive."

Arya reached over to rest a hand on her brother's arm. "I'm sorry, Bran. You've...you've suffered so much in these past months. More than me."

Bran shook his head. "No. No more than you, Arya. Just differently."

Bran's company was welcome. So was Sansa's. Her sister visited often and sat by her bedside with her needle work or her book. They spoke when Arya wished to speak and sat in silence when Arya could not find words. But always, Sansa's presence was a comfort.

Then, when Robb had finally gotten the most major problems under wraps, he came to visit her as well.

"Bran says you're handling everything well," Arya said.

"I'm glad it appears that way," Robb said.

"Appearances are sometimes what matter most in ruling," Arya said. "You...told them about my plan as well."

"I did," Robb said. "You deserved it. I wouldn't take the credit away from you."

Arya nodded once, staring at her hands. "And where... is _he_?" Arya asked. "Ramsay. What did you do with him?"

"He's in the dungeons," Robb said. "With a broken nose and significantly less teeth than before the battle."

Arya's hands clenched on her blanket. So he was here...and alive. Just like she wanted. But somehow his mere presence in Winterfell made her blood feel like ice. She wanted to kill him and be rid of him already.

"I wanted to kill him," Robb said, as if echoing her thoughts. "I nearly did. But...I remembered that you asked me to bring him back alive if I could."

"Thank you," Arya murmured. "You deserved to kill him after what he did to your wife. I just...I need to watch him die. If I don't then...then my mind might not believe that he's gone."

"I understand," Robb said. "Truly."

Arya steeled herself and started to rise from bed. "Well... let's go."

"No." Robb held out a hand. "Stay here and rest for awhile. We can't kill him yet."

"Why not?" Arya asked.

"Roose Bolton died during the battle," Robb said. "Ramsay may be the only one who knows the name of the traitor in the south. Lord Tywin would like to get that name from him one way or another."

"I can get the name from him if you let me try," Arya muttered.

"No doubt. But you're in no shape for that right now," Robb said. "Rest. He's not going anywhere."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"He's being kept under watch at all times," Robb said. "How could he escape?"

"Because I did." Arya looked up at Robb. "Post more guards. Don't underestimate him."

Robb gaze softened for just as moment as he seemed to recognize the depth of her fear. She looked away, hoping it might convince him that he had imagined the flash of terror. "All right. I'll post more guards."

"Good." Arya settled back against the pillows as Robb left and closed the door behind him. But she didn't rest. She didn't even close her eyes.

Ramsay was caught, yes, but not dead. And as long as he lived, she was not safe.

* * *

Tywin had seen the Bolton bastard's eyes in many people over the years. Those bright, cruel eyes. In the songs, it was always the heroes and fair maidens who had bright eyes, full of joy. And the villains and cold, lifeless eyes that seemed to feel nothing.

But in the real world the most dangerous villains-villains like Ramsay-had bright eyes, even when doing the most terrible things. They were not cruel out of necessity or with any real purpose. Their joy was in suffering and it made their eyes shine. Tywin had seen those eyes in his own grandson. In the Mountain, who he used for many unpleasant tasks. And before that, he had seen those eyes in Aerys Targaryen.

The boy looked up at him and gave a bloody smile. "Lord Tywin Lannister." He said each part of his name slowly as if savoring it. "I've heard so many stories but I never expected to meet you in person. Then, not only do I meet you, I very nearly killed you. I think I would have succeeded too, if not for the Stark boy. What do you think?"

Tywin did not reply. This boy was clearly the kind who liked to talk and if he let him talk perhaps he would reveal some privileged information.

"It's a shame," Ramsay continued. "I wanted to see if the west could survive without you. Father said that all the lords of the westerlands were united in fear of Tywin Lannister. You even have that song about your terrible deeds. It's a rather good song. 'And now the rains weep o'er their halls...and not a soul to here.'" Ramsay's head lolled to the side. "A memorable melody. I suppose that's what you plan to do to my family."

"I already have," Tywin said. "Your father is dead. He has no other sons but you. And your life is nearly at its end."

"But not at its end yet," Ramsay said. "Why is that again? One moment Robb Stark was fully trying to kill me. The next...he had stopped. I don't remember why because I was a bit dazed from the punching. But I'm guessing it was because you still needed something from me. Isn't that right?" Ramsay lifted his chin, as if he was trying to look down his nose at Tywin. "You want a name."

"I do," Tywin said. "You could save me a great deal of time if you gave it to me now. And you could save yourself a great deal of pain."

"I'm not concerned with time or pain," Ramsay said. "But I have thought about giving you the name."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Yes," Ramsay said. "It's not as if I have any real loyalty to your southern traitor. They have no loyalty to us. We were convenient for them. That's all." Ramsay smirked. "But then again...I keep imagining what trouble it will cause for you if I do not tell you. I keep imagining all the chaos and it makes me smile."

"You won't live long enough to watch the chaos," Tywin pointed out.

"That's all right. It makes me happy enough to know it will happen," Ramsay said.

"After a few days of torture, I'm not sure you will be so happy," Tywin said.

"I know how _torture_ works, Lord Tywin. I've participated in so much of it," Ramsay said. "I think you'll find that it will not loosen my tongue. You are welcome to try of course." He shifted in his bindings on the chair. "Will you let her try too? Arya Stark?"

Tywin felt an icy anger spread through him. Somehow, his mere mentioning of her name made him furious. But he did not let it show.

"I hope you do," Ramsay continued. "She really is something. Sometimes when she snarled I thought she might truly be a wolf in a girl's body. So wild and strong. But those are always the most entertaining to break aren't they?" He laughed once. "I hadn't finished with her yet, but I was getting close. I saw her weak. I saw her so afraid."

Tywin didn't reply. He just stared Ramsay down. Let him talk. He was only trying to provoke Tywin into giving him a quicker death. Or maybe he just wanted to see if he could get under Tywin's skin. Either way, he would not give him the pleasure.

"Now that I'm captive, I suppose she hopes to break me in exchange," Ramsay said. "She would try very hard, I'm sure and once I draw my last breath, she might even expect to feel safe and strong again." He shook his head. "But that's not what will happen. Even after I'm dead, I'll linger in the back of her mind. Because I may not have broken her, but I left little cracks with my name on them. She tries to hide them all behind that mask but they're there. Have you seen them? I hope you've seen them. I'm proud of my work."

Tywin did not reply. He let the silence hang in the air. And soon enough it seemed to affect Ramsay. He shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing.

"What's wrong? Nothing to say in defense of your ward?" his tone was more shaken. Tywin didn't suppose he was used to people standing so calmly in front of him. "You must care for her if you returned to the battlefield. Speak up."

At last, Tywin let an icy smile cross his face. "Don't make a fool of yourself by trying to provoke me, boy. It won't work. I was hand of the king to Aerys Targaryen for years. I'm used to dealing with your kind."

"Do I truly match up with the mad king?" Ramsay's eyes brightened.

"No," Tywin said. "If anything, you are a cheap imitation."

That seemed to make him angry. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Ramsay Bolton liked to fancy himself some sort of powerful figure in this game. But he was nothing more than a dog. He had never been anything more than a rabid mongrel.

"But in answer to your question...yes. I will let Arya try to loosen your tongue," Tywin turned, stepping toward the cell door. "I'll let her kill you, if she wants. Your life belongs to her."

Ramsay let out a hoarse laugh as Tywin motioned for the guards to unlock the cell. "Ah...good. I'm so glad I'll get to see her again. I'll look forward to that."

 _So will she, no doubt,_ Tywin thought. Then he paused just before he left the cell and drew a dagger from his belt.

"One more thing, before I go," he said.

"What's that?" Ramsay asked.

By way of answer, Tywin turned, before Ramsay could respond, and brought the blade down on Ramsay's hand, severing his two smallest fingers. Ramsay let out a hiss of pain between his teeth, arching in his chair. For a moment, the smug glee in his eyes changed to pain and Tywin was glad to see it.

Without a word, Tywin knelt and picked up both of the fingers in his gloved hand, listening to Ramsay's pained gasps as he did. He opened a pouch and dropped them both inside, closing it tight. "Good. Just what I needed." He looked up at Ramsay. "You took two fingers from my ward. It's only fair that you give her two fingers back."

Ramsay gritted his teeth together, barking out a pained laugh. "Ah...I am so glad...I was able to meet _you,_ Lord Tywin."

Tywin strode from the cell without another glance at the bastard of Bolton. "You won't be for long."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Never have I been so aware of the difference between lawful and chaotic evil than when writing that last scene. That sure was something. Hope you enjoyed the bittersweetness of the aftermath. Next chapter...well I believe you will all like next chapter a lot ;) Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	54. Chapter 54: Wolves and Dogs

_**A/N: And, we're back with another early morning chapter because, once again, my work internet has block lol. But not Archive for some reason. It is sloppy blocking.**_

 _ **Today is defs a fun chapter so I won't waste any time. Enjoy everyone!**_

 **Chapter 54: Wolves and Dogs**

Arya dreamed that she was back in her prison of a room at the Dreadfort. Or at least, it nearly looked like the room. It had the same bare bones furniture and it was just as cramped as she remembered. But this time, there was a large window made of pale blue stain glass, so expansive that it nearly spanned the whole back wall.

Through the window, it seemed as if she could see the whole of Westeros. From Winterfell all the way to King's Landing. The world was laid out before her, and it was breaking apart.

She could not begin to take in the chaos. Armies clashed in mass until the rivers ran red with blood, ravens and dragons alike soared through the skies, and there was a creeping darkness that seemed to freeze everything it touched.

The world outside the window was a horror. But behind her was something even worse-Ramsay Bolton.

He entered the room as he always did, a grin on his face, a knife turning in his hand. The scars he gave her before burned at the sight. His head tilted to the side.

" _So...we're back here."_

Arya dodged his blade as it sliced toward her face but he moved almost inhumanly fast. She tripped over her own ankles in her haste to dodge and smacked against the window. The glass did not give and he seized her by the collar, pinning her up against the pale blue glass.

" _It is something out there, isn't it?"_ he asked. _"Such a beautiful sight. I've never seen so much fire and ice and blood."_ She could feel his breath on her ear and it made her physically nauseous. _"You know what that means don't you? You know in your heart...this isn't the end. There is so much more to come."_

Arya shuddered. Yes. She knew that. Somehow she knew there was so much more. Maybe it was Bran's dreams or the mysterious traitor or the fact that her life seemed so attracted to chaos. But she was looking out at the rest of her life through this window and it was one fight after another.

" _So many fights. And you're not strong enough to face any of it,"_ he whispered in her ear. _"You weren't even strong enough to face me."_

" _You're never going to escape me, little wolf."_

Arya screamed and pounded on the window, trying to break through. But it did not give and she was trapped inside that room with her worst nightmare. And all she could do was watch as the world was drowned in blood.

Her own scream woke her. That and the feeling of something wet on her hand. Arya jolted awake, clutching at her chest with her left hand. When she looked down toward her mangled right hand, she found Nymeria sitting at her bedside, nudging her fingers with her wet nose.

Arya swallowed hard as she looked down at her wolf. "Did you...wake me, girl?"

Nymeria did not reply, but her eyes seemed to say yes. She rested her large head on the bed beside Arya.

"Thank you," Arya murmured, stroking her three right fingers through Nymeria's fur. "I'm sorry for making you come back for me. You were doing fine on your own I think. You're stronger than me." She turned to look out her window, half expecting to see the chaos of her dream. But all she saw was the familiar walls of Winterfell. No dragons. No armies. No creeping darkness.

No Ramsay.

Yet still she trembled in the dark of her room, thinking of the threats still to come. Thinking of whether or not she would ever be strong enough to face them.

 _Seven hells...will this ever be over?_

* * *

Ramsay's head was fuzzy and he found it hard to focus on his surroundings. At first when he heard the struggle in the hall, he thought he must be dreaming. He blinked and the space in front of him was guarded by two men. He blinked again and there was only one-a guard in a Lannister uniform opening the door to his cell.

 _This is an interesting turn of events,_ he thought, peering up at the soldier suspiciously.

"Hello there," he said. "Are you here to free me?"

The soldier did not reply. Ramsay focused on the knife in his hand.

"Or...perhaps you are here to kill me?" He laughed once. "Did your master ask this of you? To kill the Boltons should we ever be taken alive...Or at least cut out our tongues. Cersei Lannister wouldn't want her name reaching her father."

"So you understand," the soldier said. "No hard feelings. But you did fail and you need to die. She can't risk you talking."

"I didn't plan to talk. I'm not so weak," Ramsay said. "Though I suppose I'd rather die than face their torture. I'm something of an expert in torture, you see. I know it won't be pleasant."

The Lannister man turned a dagger in his hand and stepped forward. Ramsay lifted his chin.

"Or...I have another proposal."

"Do you?" the soldier asked. "You have thirty seconds to say it before I cut your throat."

"Your master hates Arya Stark, doesn't she?" Ramsay asked. "She wanted to hurt the north, but she wanted to hurt the Stark girl more than anything else. But the Stark girl survived. I can't imagine she'll be happy about that."

"No," the soldier agreed. "Are you suggesting a way to remove the Stark girl?"

"Yes," Ramsay grinned. "And if I fail...well, I won't live long enough to return here."

The soldier tilted his head to the side. "I'm listening."

* * *

"It's not possible," Robb muttered as he stared into the empty cell. In the hall behind him, six guards lay dead, their blood dried on the stones. The cell door was open. And Ramsay Bolton was gone.

" _Post more guards,"_ Arya had said. _"Don't underestimate him."_

And he had listened to her. Six guards should have been plenty for any normal prisoner. And in addition to that, Winterfell was under heavy guard at every wall. How could he have gotten away? How could Ramsay Bolton have slipped out without anyone noticing? It was _impossible_.

"Is it true?"

Tywin Lannister's voice came from behind him-cold as the wind outside. Robb did not turn. He was furious with himself. Why didn't he just break Ramsay Bolton's fucking legs?

"Yes. It's true," he said at last. "But...but how far could he possibly get? He could barely keep his eyes open yesterday. He couldn't possibly sneak away without someone noticing."

"No. Not without help," Tywin said. "It is possible that a Bolton man snuck inside in the chaos."

Robb slammed the side of his fist against the wall. He was tired of traitors. He tried to burn them all out like infection from a wound, and yet some always seemed to remain. And they had released Ramsay Bolton back into the world.

"Calm yourself," Tywin said. "He won't get far. He's lost quite a bit of blood and his head can't be back to normal. It's a desperate final play. Set the hounds to finding him. There's plenty of his scent in this cell."

Robb nodded once. "Yes. There is." He turned and stalked from room, hoping to find some watchman who had seen Ramsay Bolton's escape.

They found evidence of his path soon enough. A rope was tethered to the eastern wall of the Godswood, and there was an evidence of a rough fall. Blood as well. Ramsay Bolton had left his blood on the snow. The hounds would pick up the trail easily enough.

"It's a desperate attempt at escape, nothing more," Tywin said flatly. "He has nowhere to go."

"No," Robb agreed. "I'll lead the search party to bring him back myself. And this time, when I find him, I'll shatter his ankles and knees so that he cannot think to run."

"Very well," Tywin said. "Take my son with you. To represent my interests." He rested a hand on his side. "I would ride myself, but I don't want to reopen my wound."

"No, you should stay here," Robb said. He pulled at his glove. "And until we return...don't tell Arya."

"Why keep her in the dark?" Tywin asked.

"She fears him enough when he's in a cell. She pretends she doesn't but...you can see it if you look close enough." Robb's fists clenched. "If she finds out he's missing, she won't be able to sleep at all."

Tywin didn't speak for a moment. Then he nodded. "Very well. For now, we won't tell her. It isn't as if she can search for him without reopening her wounds."

"Thank you," Robb said. Then he turned to his men. "Gather riders and the hounds outside the east wall. We leave as soon as possible."

* * *

Jaime was visiting with Arya when the Lannister messenger knocked on the door and asked to see him for a moment in the hall. That was the first thing that pricked Arya's suspicion. If Lord Tywin had sent a messenger to talk to Jaime then he wouldn't be concerned about her overhearing. Then again, perhaps the messenger had thought the words were meant for Jaime alone.

A moment later, Jaime reentered the room with a very serious expression. That was the second thing that set her nerves on edge.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No, nothing," Jaime said. A lie. He was lying to her. "Your brother asked for my assistance on something. Seven hells, that's something I never expected to say. Did you ever think you would see us getting along so well?"

"He doesn't exactly like you," Arya said. "He tolerates you."

"That in and of itself is a miracle," Jaime said. "I'm sorry to cut our visit short. But I expect I'll be back very soon."

"Back from what?" Arya asked.

"Nothing important."

"If it was nothing important, you would just tell me."

Jaime sighed and glanced to the side. "We're scouting for the remains of the enemy forces to see if any of them have hidden the woods. Your brother wanted Lannister troops to cover more ground. Does that satisfy you?"

It didn't. It was still a lie. But Arya forced a smile and nodded once. "Yes. Be careful."

Jaime nodded once. "You as well."

"I don't imagine I can get into much trouble in this room," Arya pointed out.

"None the less," Jaime glanced over his shoulder. "You do have bad luck. It never hurts to be on guard."

Then he left the room, his last comment ringing in her ears.

 _It never hurts to be on guard._

He said like something of a joke...and yet at the same time, it felt like a warning.

* * *

By the next night, Jaime and Robb had not returned with their men. But no one told Arya exactly why they had gone.

There was something wrong in the air. Something other than the secrets. Arya could sense it. Granted, everything seemed wrong these days. She rarely slept for fear that she would not be prepared for the next threat. The atmosphere of Winterfell was taut with tension at all times.

But tonight, it felt worse. She sat straight up in bed, staring out the window. Watching and waiting for the shadows to move. She turned her knife over and over again in her hand.

"Arya," Sansa murmured. "You should sleep. You haven't slept in days. You need rest to heal."

"I am resting," Arya murmured. "I'm just not sleeping."

Sansa put down her needlework and went over to her side. "I'll wait with you while you sleep. I'll keep watch."

"And if an enemy comes, will you fight them?" Arya asked sharply. Sansa flinched and a shard of guilt pierced Arya's heart. "I'm sorry...That was...I don't expect you to..."

"It's alright," Sansa said. "Besides. You have Nymeria to guard you."

Arya's brow furrowed and she looked toward the door. "Sansa, where is Nymeria?"

"Maybe she heard a sound and decided to investigate," Sansa said. "She'll be back. You know how she never stays still for too long. She's like you in that way."

"Which is why this bed is beginning to drive me mad," Arya sighed. It still felt wrong. It all felt so wrong. She looked out the window again.

This time, the shadows did move. No...It was smoke. Someone had set a fire.

"Fire," Arya murmured. "There's a fire. Sansa-"

The door slammed closed. Arya whipped around, so fast she felt pain spike through her torso. Ramsay Bolton stood in the center of the room, just behind Sansa. One hand covered her mouth and the other pressed a blade to her throat.

His face was a mess of dried blood and he was missing two fingers on his right hand just like her, though he still managed to grip his knife without any trouble. He swayed a bit where he stood, as if he was having trouble keeping balance. Clearly, he was not at his best. But she wasn't at her best either.

"Hello again," Ramsay purred. His voice sent a deep shiver through Arya. "Did you miss me, little wolf?"

Arya couldn't speak. Her throat had closed up and her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. She knew he would come back for her. He had haunted her dreams enough. She knew she would see him again.

Her hand flashed to her bedside, snatching her knife. But before she could move to throw it, she heard Sansa whimper. Ramsay pressed his blade harder to her throat, slicing shallowly into the skin. Arya froze as she saw a few drops of blood rolled down her pale neck.

"That's it," Ramsay said. "You stay still. Or I'll open Lady Sansa's throat right here. The red will go with her hair, don't you think?"

Arya did not reply. She did not trust herself to speak to him. Anger and fear mixed in her chest, absolutely enveloping her being. She wanted to rip him to piece. She wanted to carve his smile from his face. But the moment she moved to do so...he would kill Sansa.

"My gamble worked out rather well," Ramsay said. "A bit of blood outside of the walls of Winterfell and your brother assumed I had left the castle." He smirked. "Not that I could have gotten very far. Smarter to hide within the walls and wait for some of your protectors to leave."

That was what Jaime was hiding. Ramsay had escaped and they hadn't told her. Did they really think her so weak that they were keeping secrets now?

"Oh, you didn't know I escaped, did you?" Ramsay asked. "I can see it on your face. Perhaps they did not want to worry you. That's very sweet." His smile widened. "This is what is going to happen. You're going to put down that knife and come to me. You left before our wedding. It was very awkward for me you know. Not having a bride or a wedding night. I think we should remedy that."

Arya's grip tightened on her knife. She did not move. She did not reply.

"Look at you. More a startled cat than a wolf. Have I been visiting you in your nightmares, my lady?" Ramsay purred.

Arya wished that she could say 'no'. She wished that Ramsay had never gotten any hold over her mind. But her tongue and eyes would not lie today. And her hand trembled as she gripped her blade.

Ramsay's gaze hardened just slightly. He lifted Sansa's chin with the blade. "The knife, little wolf. Put it down. You won't be able to use it properly with that mangled right hand of yours."

Arya looked from Ramsay to Sansa. She expected to see terror in her sister's eyes. Instead she saw defiance. And a silent promise.

Arya relaxed her grip on the blade and straightened. "No. But I'm left handed."

Sansa's hand snapped up. She grasped Ramsay's knife with her bare fingers, screaming as it cut into her skin. But it blocked the edge from her throat and that was all Arya needed. She hurled the knife at Ramsay. It took him in the eye, not deep enough to kill him but deep enough to make him howl.

With a cry, Sansa pushed away from him, falling to the floor. Arya lunged at Ramsay without a second thought, slamming into him with the full force of her body and tackling him to the ground. She twisted the knife in his eye and sank her teeth into his ear, ripping at the flesh like wolf in her dream. She relished his screams and the taste of his blood. It was a joy to make him bleed.

He still had a knife too. She felt it cut into her side and she rolled off of him to avoid the worst of the damage, landing in a crouch beside the bed. Ramsay still had her knife in his eye and a bloody knife of his own.

But she had two swords under her bed.

She grabbed the first one her hand felt as he came at her. Needle. She stepped back from a vicious swing from his blade and jabbed it forward, poking a hole in his stomach. Blood spilled from the wound, but he was not easily deterred. He had the eyes of a mad dog. He gripped the thin blade and took it with him as he fell back, disarming her again.

 _That's alright. I have another sword._

Arya knelt and found 'Winter's Fury' beneath the bed as well.

"How many swords... do you have," Ramsay gasped out, his remaining eye blazing with hate.

Arya smiled coldly, drawing her blade from its sheath and casting it to the ground. "Enough to kill you."

She lunged at him. He threw needle at her. The tip cut a streak across her cheek, but missed anything important. She cut a wide arc with her blade, slicing deep across his chest. He coughed and fell back. His knife slipped from his hand and skidded across the ground, and when he reached for it, she sliced the rest of his hand clean off. His scream made her feel strong.

Every part of Arya's body burned. She could feel fresh blood pouring from her wounds, old and new. But she felt strong as she stared down at him.

"Are you surprised?" she said flatly. "You kept calling me little wolf. And you know well enough that wolves have teeth."

The bedroom door rattled and Arya heard growling just beyond. A dark little thought entered her mind as she looked down at Ramsay. Bleeding out. Choking on his own breath. It would be easy to take his head with her own sword. Or she could leave him to bleed. He would be dead in a few minutes if she did.

But that was too clean an ending for him.

Slowly, Arya paced around him, turning Winter's Fury in her hand. "You like to hurt people don't you? You like to scare them. Break them. It gives you a lot of pleasure. I could tell that about you when we first met." She stopped in front of the door. "But it's a gamble, trying to break a person instead of killing them. Because if they don't break...then they'll break you."

Ramsay laughed. It was a hysterical pained sound. "Are you going to _break_ me, little wolf."

Arya tilted her head to the side. "I may be a little wolf. But I _am_ a wolf none the less. You're just...a rabid dog." She placed her hand on the handle of the door. "Do you know what wolves do to dogs, Ramsay? You didn't give me an answer the first time I asked. What do wolves do to dogs?"

Now he didn't reply. She relished the fear in his eyes. He was trying to hide it with rage, but he was too weak to make it convincing.

"It's alright. I'll show you," Arya said. Then she opened the door.

Nymeria was on him in the blink of an eye. Ramsay screamed as she tore at his arms. At his face. At his throat. Nymeria did not go immediately for the throat, as if she sensed that this man did not deserve a quick end. But when he was barely recognizable and his screams became wet, she sunk her teeth deep into his neck and silenced him.

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Arya took a few steps forward toward the body, looking down at the ruined mess. She was aware of Sansa again. Sansa who had witnessed the whole encounter. Her sister was staring at her with one part worry and one part horror.

Slowly, Arya sagged against the wall. Now that the adrenaline began to die, she felt weakness returning to her and she was painfully aware of her wounds.

"Arya!" Sansa pushed herself to her feet. "You're...you're bleeding again."

"I'll be fine," Arya murmured. But internally she was cursing herself. She should have gotten a name. Why had she forgotten about the name entirely? In the midst of her rage and fear, the traitor had disappeared from her mind. There was only Ramsay and the need to destroy him.

"Don't move," Sansa said. "I'll find Maester Luwin. Do _not_ move."

Arya's eyelids were heavy as she heard the footsteps pace away. She looked up at Nymeria who looked right back at her, blood dripping from her maw.

 _It's over,_ she thought. _He's dead. I killed him._

Why then did she still feel weak?

* * *

 _ **A/N: On the plus side, yay! A gruesome death for Ramsay at Arya's hand. On the negative side, she was so overcome with fear and rage that she forgot about the name and now it remains a secret. Boy, I hope that doesn't cause problems down the line *shifty glances***_

 _ **We'll forgive Arya for that mess up though. She has been thoroughly traumatized and was not expected to confront the subject of her trauma that night so...yep. But any Ramsay death is a good death in my opinion ;)**_

 _ **As always, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	55. Chapter 55: Delirium

_**A/N: Well after the wild last chapter, I appreciate your sympathies for Arya.**_

 _ **Arya: I'm so weak...I didn't get the traitors name.**_

 _ **Basically all of you: Arya, it's fine, you're bleeding. Calm down.**_

 _ **In any case, here's the next chapter. Some good old aftermath and emotions and things. Featuring Tywin and Sansa. Isn't that a weird couple of characters? Well, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 55: Delirium**

Tywin knew that something was wrong as soon as he saw the smoke. He was suspicious by nature, and with Ramsay Bolton on the loose...well, this couldn't possibly be an accident.

Tywin cursed himself for being so foolish. They had found evidence that the bastard had escaped the castle, but if he had really thought about it, the likelihood of an injured man making it so far without their notice was low. It would have been smarter for him to hide somewhere in the keep and wait to regain his senses. Once he did...

Once he did he would look for leverage. And that leverage would be Arya.

Tywin immediately called upon his guards and made for Arya Stark's room. He could only hope that Robb Stark had been smart enough to give his sister some sort of guard. And if he hadn't, Tywin should have given some of his own men. He had resolved to let Robb Stark handle the situation in the north, but he should not have left him to handle his ward.

When he reached the foot of the stairs to the west wing, he nearly ran into Sansa Stark, who was stumbling down the stairs. Tywin caught her shoulders and steadied her. There was blood on her dress and a nearly bone deep cut on her hand that gushed blood, as if she had grabbed a knife with her bare palm.

"What happened?" Tywin asked.

"Arya..." Sansa muttered. "I need...Maester Luwin."

"Is she alive?" Tywin asked, fearing the worst for a moment.

"She's alive," Sansa said. "But she's...bleeding again. Her wounds..." She shook her head. "I can't...lift her."

The girl was in shock. Something had happened, but her mind wasn't wrapping around it. But at the very least, it seemed Arya was alive. For now.

"Go find your maester," Tywin said at last. "Bring him here as quickly as possible. My guards will secure the room until you return. Do you understand?"

For a moment, she didn't reply. Then she seemed to process his words and her eyes snapped into focus. "Yes." Then she hurried off in the opposite direction. Tywin snapped his fingers and his guards rushed up the stairs toward Arya's room. He followed.

He did not know what he expected to see in Arya Stark's room. But it wasn't this. Blood stained the floor boards and splattered the walls and furniture. Most of it seemed to come from the mess on the ground. It had once been a man, Tywin imagined. But that man's face had been torn away, along with his throat. His gaze followed the trail of blood to Arya Stark.

She was sitting on the ground, leaned up against the wall, one arm wrapped around her middle. Her head was dipped and her hair hung in front of her face. She was covered in blood, though Tywin could not tell how much of it was hers. Her maimed hand was twisted in the fur of her wolf who lay by her side, growling at his guards. The wolf's maw was dripping with blood.

Tywin took one step forward and the wolf bristled, snapping it's bloody jaws. His guards flinched and stepped back in fear.

Tywin did not move. He kept his expression and voice calm. "Arya. Can you hear me?"

She shifted slightly at the sound of his voice though she did not look up. "Lord Tywin?"

"Yes," he said. "What happened?"

"I...took care of Ramsay Bolton," she murmured. "You should have told me he escaped. I could have been more... prepared."

So it was Ramsay Bolton on the floor. Seven hells. None of her previous targets had ever received so brutal a death, though he had no doubt he had earned it.

"We need to get you off the floor," Tywin said. "You've likely reopened your wounds."

"Yes..." she murmured. Her voice was weak and hoarse. He had never heard her speak quite so softly. "That's likely."

"I don't think your wolf will let us past," he said.

She seemed to consider this for a moment. Then she released her wolf and urged her away. "Nymeria. Away. These aren't enemies."

The wolf listened to her without a second thought, though it kept its eyes on Tywin as it moved off into the corner. A beast of that size could kill him and all of his men if it desired, and he did not intend to provoke it.

Once the wolf was sitting, Tywin moved over to Arya and knelt in front of her. From here, he was able to better assess the damage. Blood stained her tunic where she had opened old wounds and her clothing was sliced in a few places where she had earned new ones. A thin cut marked her cheek as well. When she looked up at him through her wild dark hair, her grey eyes were cloudy and exhausted. And when he touched her shoulder, he could feel her trembling.

She was alive, yes, but in a great deal of pain. She needed the maester soon.

And yet, she apologized.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't get...a traitor's name."

He shook his head. "Worry about staying alive before you worry about that, Lady Arya." Then he motioned to two of his guards to approach. "Lift her onto the bed. Carefully."

The guards did so, though she winced in pain as they moved her, she did not cry out. She was so unwilling to let anyone see her in pain, even when she was openly bleeding. In his memory, he had only seen her truly scream once-after her escape from the Dreadfort. It was not a sound he wished to hear again.

He turned his gaze once again on the mess that was Ramsay Bolton, finding himself satisfied that Arya had dealt him such a gruesome fate. He spied Winter's laying close to the corpse, dripping with the bastard's blood. Tywin retrieved it from the ground and used his own red cloth to wipe it clean. Then he rested it at the foot of Arya's bed.

"Is...is Sansa all right?" Arya murmured. Her eyes fluttered as she seemed to grow delirious from blood loss. "Her hand...is she angry with me...?"

"I doubt that," Tywin said, though he imagined seeing her sister kill a man in such a way was a shock for the girl. "She'll return soon."

"She's angry with me...she always used to get angry with me..." Arya murmured. Her eyes were in some far off place, like someone close to death. But Tywin would not allow himself to believe that. She had survived so much all ready. This would not be what killed her. A mongrel like Ramsay Bolton could never end Arya Stark. "Because I made a mess of things, she said. I always made a mess of things. Mother said the same. I think I've made a mess of things again."

Tywin's jaw clenched and he looked to the guards. "See if you can't find the Stark girl and the maester. Tell them to hurry."

The guards obeyed without question, and the other two were left to guard the door.

"All of this mess...was because of me," she continued on. "Because I...wasn't quick enough or...smart enough."

"You're not to blame for any of it. Focus on staying awake."

"I'm tired."

"I don't care. You are not allowed to sleep yet."

"I'm tired of fighting," she murmured. "It's exhausting. I want...to stop fighting for once."

"I know," he replied. _Where in the seven hells is their maester?_ He did not like seeing his ward like this. Part of him wanted to leave the room entirely so that he did not have to endure her suffering. But he could not leave her.

Arya coughed. "Where...where is..."

"Your sister will be here soon," Tywin said flatly.

"Father..." Arya mumbled. "Where is father?"

Tywin did not have a reply to that. This wasn't exactly the moment to remind Arya that her father was long dead. But he didn't know what else to say.

A shudder went through Arya's body and she reached out toward the ceiling. "Father? Where...where are you? Are you...there?"

Tywin stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment. He had seen Arya Stark as many things over these years. A clever cupbearer, a stubborn child, a valuable bargaining chip. A vicious fighter, an intelligent strategist. A lady. A wolf.

And here, she was a girl crying out for her long dead father, reaching for him but finding only air.

He wasn't sure what moved him to extend his hand, but the moment he did, she gripped onto it like it was a lifeline.

 _Fine,_ he told himself. _Whatever keeps her alive._

* * *

Sansa ran as fast as she could to find Maester Luwin, though blood loss was making her dizzy. When she stumbled into his rooms, he was just blowing out the candles to prepare for bed. But once she told him what had happened, he scrambled about to find his materials, asking her questions about Arya's injuries.

"I don't know," Sansa said. "Old wounds opened. A few new wounds with a blade. I don't know how deep."

Maester Luwin nodded and gathered everything he thought he would need in two baskets. He handed one to her and carried one himself as they hurried back through the keep. Despite his age, he moved swiftly. There was no time to lose. Arya had survived worse, but sometimes, the lesser things could still kill.

They met with two Lannister guards on the way, and found two Lannister guards at the door to Arya's room as well. When they opened the door, Sansa first saw the bloody mess that used to be Ramsay Bolton and she felt a shiver go through her.

The emotions of that moment were still fresh. The fear as Ramsay Bolton had grabbed her and pressed a knife to her throat. The terror for her sister, who he meant to harm. The pain as she gripped the knife to give Arya a chance to fight him. And then...the emotion she felt as she destroyed him. She did not have a word for that feeling. Was it fear or elation or horror or regret or fury or nausea or vindication? Was it all of those at once? She could not say.

But then, what she had felt didn't matter. Ramsay Bolton was not her concern anymore. Her sister was still alive and she needed help.

She turned in time to see Tywin Lannister standing and stepping away from Arya to give Maester Luwin enough space. Sansa hurried past the Lord of Casterly Rock without a second glance, clasping her sister's hand which was grasping at air.

"Arya," she murmured. "It's all right. Maester Luwin is here. You'll be all right."

"Sansa..." Arya squeezed her hand tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Sansa whispered. "You saved me, Arya. You saved me. Thank you."

On the other side of the bed, Nymeria let out a low whine and rested her great head on the bed beside Arya. She feared for her too, which was not a good sign.

"Two of her old wounds are opened," Maester Luwin said. "The new ones are minor. The most important thing is stopping the bleeding. Sansa. Put your hand here. Put pressure on the wound."

Sansa obeyed, pressing hard on a cloth and watching it stain red.

She did not mind the blood. As long as her sister lived, she did not mind anything at all.

* * *

Some time later, Maester Luwin claimed the worst had passed and Arya had drifted off into a more comfortable sleep. She had a fever, but he was keeping it down with cool cloths, and she was not shaking as much as before. Still, Sansa did not let go of her hand. She wanted to feel the warmth beneath her skin to remind herself that she was still alive.

"If she makes it through the night, she will live," Maester Luwin murmured, pressing a fresh cloth to Arya's brow. "Her wounds were clean so there's little danger of infection. It looked worse than it was. She needs rest and plenty of food and water so that she can return to her old strength."

"Of course," Sansa murmured.

"And what of your hand, Sansa?" Maester Luwin asked.

Sansa looked down at her own bandages. "It hurts but it's not near as bad as hers. I will be fine."

Maester Luwin nodded once. "So will she. I've always known your sister to heal very quickly."

"Yes," Sansa agreed. "Which is for the best. She was always the one throwing herself into danger." She picked at her bandage. "Do you remember when she broke her arm?"

"Oh, yes. She was eight I believe," Maester Luwin said. "A clean break, lucky for her. Some bones never heal the way they were. I forget how she broke it exactly. Falling out of a tree?"

"Yes," Sansa said. "We were in the woods and we saw a tree that had been damaged by a harsh wind. It was in danger of falling. There was a nest of birds there. Somehow it hadn't fallen but it was danger of tipping, and if the tree collapsed, they would be lost. I was so afraid for them and thought to go find Robb or father to help them down."

"But Arya climbed the tree herself," Maester Luwin said.

"Yes. Scrambled right up in her new dress. I warned her that Septa Mordane would be very cross with her for that. But she didn't care." Sansa barely smiled. "Next thing I knew, she was hanging upside down on a branch, trying to reach the nest."

"Did she get it? I can't recall," Maester Luwin said.

"She did," Sansa said. "The moment she did, the branch broke from her weight. She fell and landed on her right arm. But the birds. She had the birds cradled against her chest. She was crying from the pain but she was so proud of herself. 'Look,' she said. 'I told you I could do it.'" She looked down at Arya's sleeping face. "She tucked them in the hollow of a stronger tree while I ran to get help. And even though her arm hurt, she was still smiling."

Maester Luwin smiled. "That does sound like your sister."

"Yes," Sansa said. "The trouble was what happened after. After she was feeling better, we returned to the woods to find the birds, this time with father. And they were gone. Their nest was in tatters and there wasn't one bird to be found. Father said they may have flown off somewhere, but Arya was certain they had been eaten. It was too soon to fly, she said. They hadn't flown, they were gone. They were dead and none of it mattered." Sansa swallowed hard. "She cried harder then than she did when she broke her arm."

"So did you, I imagine," Maester Luwin said.

"Yes, but I cried at everything," Sansa said. "Not Arya. She never cried so I hated to see it then. We fought so often, but I never wanted to see her like that."

"Of course not," Maester Luwin said. "All of you children fought, but when it came down to it, you were a family. You cared when one of you were hurt. Truly hurt."

"There's been a lot of hurt in the past few years," Sansa murmured. "I wish...I wish I had discovered the plot against Robb sooner. If I had, the cost would not be as great. Robb could have dealt with the traitors and came north in time to stop the siege. And Tailisa might still be alive. If I had just been a bit quicker."

"You can't blame yourself for that," Maester Luwin said.

"But I do," Sansa said. "I thought I was helping. Doing something worthwhile. But it was just like with the birds. It didn't matter in the end. It didn't make any difference."

"I think you'll find it did."

The voice came from the doorway behind her. Sansa turned to see Tywin Lannister standing there. He had left at some point and she had forgotten all about him. But it seemed he had returned. She wondered how long he had been standing there.

She stood, smoothing down her skirts and dipping into a curtsy. She never forgot her courtesies and she was not about to start now. "My lord, forgive me. I did not notice your return."

Tywin shook his head, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "You sent that letter with a rider and gave him specific instructions. Do you remember what they were?"

"To deliver the letter straight to my brother or mother. No one else," she said.

"And if they could not find them?" Tywin asked.

Sansa's brow furrowed. "The rider gave the letter to you...didn't he?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "Your brother and mother were at the Twins at the time of the rider's arrival, trying to bargain for your younger brother's life. But since you had the foresight to send the man to me, I was able to use your information to cut off the traitors before they could make their escape. Without that letter, many more men would have joined Roose Bolton's armies in the north. Not to mention you provided your brother with the names of every traitor. I would hardly call that useless."

Sansa clasped her hands tightly together. "Then would it have made a difference...if the letter had reached you sooner?"

"Perhaps, but I don't think that matters. You can't change what has passed," Tywin said. "And you could just as easily fault the rider for the delay."

Sansa bit her lip. She wasn't so sure of that. She should have investigated the northern lords before Jon ever sent her the note. If she had...

At her silence, Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Is it a Stark trait to blame yourselves so constantly for things which you did not do?"

"Yes," Maester Luwin said from Arya's bedside. "They learned it from their father I expect. No matter what good he did, he never saw it as enough."

"That doesn't surprise me about him," Tywin paced to the other side of the room, studying Arya, as if checking to see if she was still breathing. "Though I suppose when one is so committed to honor, they are bound to fail more often."

For a moment, Sansa forgot herself and her eyes narrowed just slightly. "Is that why you've found so much success?"

Tywin looked back at her, unruffled by the comment. "Yes. It is."

Sansa lifted her chin. "I'm sure my father preferred his honor to your success."

Tywin studied her. "Ah. I see it now."

"See what?" she asked.

"Your resemblance to your sister."

Then, as if stirred by Tywin's mention of her, Arya jolted awake, gasping for breath. Sansa bent and caught her hand tightly in her own.

"Arya...it's all right. You're safe." She reached out, pushing her tangled hair back from her forehead. "You're safe. Everything is fine."

"Ramsay..." Arya muttered. "Ramsay was..."

"I know. But he's gone now. You took care of him," Sansa said gently.

Arya blinked hard as her memory seemed to return to her. She looked from Sansa's face to her injured hand. "Are you... all right?"

Sansa nodded once, offering her a reassuring smile. "I'm all right. You will be too."

Arya nodded once. Then she sagged back against her pillow and promptly fell asleep again.

"She'll need rest before she's at full strength again," Maester Luwin said. "Sansa, you should rest as well. It's been a trying day for you."

Sansa stood slowly from her seat, releasing Arya's hand and setting it gently on the bed beside her. She knew well enough that she needed sleep. Maester Luwin could be trusted to watch over Arya until morning. So could Nymeria.

Reluctantly, she moved toward the door, but stopped just before she left. "Lord Tywin...I imagine you'll be taking Arya south again soon."

"Yes," Tywin said.

"Then I hope you will not let anything happen to her there," Sansa said. "The north won't forget if you do."

Then, without another word, she slipped from the room and closed the door behind her.

Her body seemed to buzz in the wake of saying those words to such a powerful man. But she did not intend to take them back. Years ago, Tywin Lannister had chosen to take Arya hostage, and Sansa was free to return home and for the first time in a long while, she had found herself amongst friends and family. But that was at the cost of her sister's freedom. She thought about her nearly every day, trapped in bloody keep, a wolf amongst lions.

But her sister had done better there than Sansa could ever have hoped. Better than she did at any rate. Sansa did not like Tywin Lannister and she blamed him for many of her family's troubles. He could at least be trusted to keep Arya safe when they returned south.

And if he couldn't, then there would be seven hells to pay.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Never thought I'd write a convo between Tywin and Sansa. I mean they're in the same place for a whole season and two episodes and he talks about her a lot but they never interact so...it was fun to write. And continue the Stark women trend of standing up to the most scary man in the seven kingdoms.**_

 _ **Also, there were lots of feelsie scenes in this chapter that were tough to write but I like how they turned out. If you agree, review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	56. Chapter 56: Broth

_**A/N: Hello all! Slightly shorter chapter than I wanted to give you this week, but it has been a dreadfully busy week, so I did my best. Hope you all enjoy this for once peaceful kind of chapter. It's got Jaime in it! Have fun!**_

 **Chapter 56: Broth**

Catelyn was accustomed to bad news at this point in her life. She was accustomed to her children finding themselves in danger as well. But she did not expect to wake that morning to news of her youngest daughter nearly dying in a desperate scuffle with Ramsay Bolton. She only heard every other word that Sansa told her. Words like "reopened wounds" and "knife" and "blood loss", and she feared the worst. Dead? Was her Arya dead?

"Mother." Sansa rested her hand on her shoulder. "She's fine. Really. Maester Luwin is with her now and he insists that she will live."

Catelyn shook her head, trying to gather herself. Sleep still clung to her mind and made this conversation seem like some awful dream.

"Why...didn't you wake me?"

"I did not want to wake you unless I had news," Sansa said. "You've spent so much time worrying over us. I thought I would take a turn at worrying for a change."

Catelyn let out a single, hoarse laugh. "Don't act as if you've been sitting peacefully at Winterfell without a care in the world, Sansa. You spent a month in the dark of the crypts worrying. You needn't worry about me too."

Sansa nodded once and looked down at her hands. Only then did Catelyn recognize the bandages. She reached down, gently taking that hand in hers. "You're hurt as well."

"A knife," Sansa said. "I grabbed the blade to give Arya a chance to attack Ramsay Bolton."

Catelyn exhaled. Her daughter would have a scar on her palm, and it would closely resemble one that she had received some years ago protecting Bran from an assassin's blade. Sansa had defended her sister just as fiercely, though she had no weapons with which to do so. She had grown into a fine, brave young woman.

At last she released Sansa's hand. "I should go to her. Is she awake?"

"Not yet. But I'm sure you won't bother her," Sansa said.

"Good," Catelyn smiled. "Get some sleep, Sansa. You look quite tired."

Sansa nodded once. "I will try, mother."

Once Sansa was gone, Catelyn made her way swiftly to Arya's room. She found Lannister guards at the door when she arrived, which struck her as strange. And when she entered the first thing she noticed was Tywin Lannister sitting by her daughter's bed.

 _Why is he here?_ was her first thought. Tywin Lannister was not the type to sit worrying by someone's bedside. She had only briefly seen him in Arya's tent after she first escaped Winterfell, and then only passing through to check on her progress with the maester. Now he was sitting. Watching over her. Why?

He looked up when Catelyn entered and for a moment he shifted like he intended to stand and leave. But he didn't.

"So they woke you?" Catelyn asked, her voice coming out flat.

"No one woke me," Tywin said. "There was a fire. I found it suspicious. I came to Arya's room because I assumed the worst."

"And the worst was correct," Catelyn said.

"It usually is with you Starks," he said.

Catelyn nodded once. Part of her wanted to fight with him. Not for any reason really. Just because she did not much like Tywin Lannister and she had not forgiven him for taking her daughter away. But the other part of her was...tired. She did not have the energy to argue. She was simply worried about Arya.

Slowly, she drifted to Arya's side, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

"She's always been such a trial," Catelyn murmured. "Always worrying me. Always causing me grief. She sometimes relished in causing trouble."

"She still does," Tywin said.

Catelyn smiled faintly. "Now I'm sure she just wishes for peace."

"Peace is a rather hard thing to come by," Tywin said.

"Yes," Catelyn said. "But she deserves it...after all of these years." She looked up at the Lord of Casterly Rock "When will you take her south?" Catelyn asked.

"When she is well enough to travel," Tywin said.

"And soon after you will make her into a Lannister."

Tywin did not reply. There was really no good answer to her statement.

"No matter who she marries...no matter what name you give her...It doesn't matter. My girl has more of the north in her than most of my children." She looked up at him. "She will always be a Stark."

She half expected him to protest. To lay some sort of claim over Arya. But he did not seem eager to start a fight either, and his next words surprised her.

"I have no doubt of that, Lady Stark," Tywin said. "Your daughter would not allow anyone to suggest otherwise."

 _And you care what my daughter suggests?_ she thought but did not say. She had not entirely figured out why Tywin was here. Or maybe she had figured it out, but did not know how to process it.

Whatever the case, in this moment they were united. Both of them wanted to see Arya wake.

* * *

Arya woke in the early morning feeling cold and weak. When she moved, fresh pain shot through her body, as if to remind her of the damage which she had suffered. For a moment, she did not remember what had happened. Then it all came rushing back at once and she reached toward her bedside table, searching for a knife on instinct.

A hand rested on her shoulder. "No, Arya. Stay still."

It was Maester Luwin. She recognized his warm, gentle voice in an instant though it took her a moment to focus on him. She saw his face first. Then her mother's hovering just behind him. And in the opposite corner of the room stood Lord Tywin.

Maester Luwin and Arya's mother were familiar faces in this room. But Tywin was so strangely out of place. Her life was split into two parts. Arya Stark of Winterfell and Arya Stark, ward of Tywin Lannister. When those two lives intersected, there was a sort of tonal dissonance. Her family in the south did not seem right. And Tywin in the north, in the room of her childhood, did not seem right either.

"How are you feeling?" Catelyn asked, breaking Arya from her thoughts.

"I'm...fine..." she managed at last. "Tired. And...my side hurts. Actually everywhere hurts."

"Your side was the worst of the new wounds," Maester Luwin said. "But I'm pleased to say that you will recover. It will be some time before you are back to normal, but you will live."

Arya nodded once looking around the room. She didn't know what she was searching for. Maybe Ramsay's body? No, of course they had removed that. It felt like someone else should be here.

"Arya?" Catelyn asked. "Are you all right?"

"Who was here last night?" Arya asked. "My memories are strange."

"Myself and your sister," Maester Luwin said. "Lord Tywin as well and some of his guard. Why do you ask?"

Arya shook her head as she realized. In her delirious state she had thought...But that was foolish. "I just...I'm sorry. It was just a dream I had that felt very real."

"Vivid dreams are quite common when one is near death," Maester Luwin said.

"What did you dream?" Catelyn asked, kneeling beside her bed.

"I...dreamed of father," Arya said. "I dreamed he was beside me. Holding my hand."

Her mother's eyes glistened with tears. "Oh Arya...Perhaps he was."

"Yes. Perhaps indeed," Maester Luwin said with a rather strange look on his face. Almost as if he knew something that she did not.

From out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tywin shift. He was moving toward the door as if he had suddenly remembered he had some important place to be. Arya looked up in confusion. "Lord Tywin?"

He paused and looked back at her. "I'm glad to see you awake again," he said flatly. "Hopefully, this is your last brush with death for some time."

Arya swallowed hard. "I hope so as well."

Tywin nodded once. For one more moment, he lingered in the silence of the room. Then he gave her and her mother a nod and took his leave.

Arya stared at the door for a long moment after he had gone. Yes...it was quite strange to see Tywin Lannister in this place. But at the same time, she did not mind his presence.

That was stranger still.

* * *

The hunt for Ramsay Bolton had not been a success. Though the hounds picked up on a trail that took them through the woods, but after only a few hours, it was clear the trail had gone cold. They continued through the Wolfswood and camped that night at an abandoned shack which they had hoped might be a hiding place for their target. But he wasn't there, and they were left to wait out the night, all the while knowing that Ramsay Bolton could be getting further away.

The next morning, the trail was still cold, and the Lord of Winterfell was clearly not happy about it.

Jaime could read Robb's fury over his face as he whipped his horse around again and again. He looked over every tree as if expecting to find Ramsay hiding in the branches or tucked behind the gnarled roots. But there was nothing. No sign of him at all.

"He could have doubled back toward the castle to shake our trail," Robb said. "Ser Jaime...I suggest you return to Winterfell and alert your father. Tell him to keep looking around the castle. We'll continue to search the woods."

Jaime nodded once. He was glad to return to the castle to warn them. He needed to warn Arya too. If Ramsay had any designs on finding her, she needed to be prepared. He had thought keeping his escape a secret from her was a bad idea in the first place. Better she be afraid but ready than caught off guard by that wretched bastard.

He rode hard back to Winterfell, reaching the gates by just before midday. When he road through the gates, he searched for a Lannister man who might know where his father was. Instead he saw Sansa Stark crossing the courtyard.

Jaime swung from his horse and approached her. "Lady Sansa."

"Ser Jaime." She turned to face him, clasping her hands together in front of her. Her hand was bandaged. "Has the rest of the party returned with you?"

"Just me," Jaime said. "Your brother sent me to bring news. Our trail on Ramsay Bolton is cold. He worried he may have doubled back."

"He didn't," Sansa said.

"Good," Jaime said. "None the less I should speak to my father. He'll want to know-"

"You misunderstand," Sansa said firmly before he could finish. "Ramsay Bolton didn't double back because he never left. He was hiding in the keep."

Jaime's eyes widened. He glanced down at Sansa's bandaged hand again, then up to her face. "And...is he...? What about Arya?"

He stumbled over his words for a moment, fearing the worst. He did not tell Arya about Ramsay so she wasn't prepared. He could have burst into her room and killed her. She was injured after all. Not at her best. Killing her would be much easier than usual.

But Sansa's expression was not one of grief. She was calm and she offered him a smile. "He's dead. Arya killed him." She glanced toward the keep. "She was injured but our Maester says she'll make a full recovery."

Jaime felt the breath leave him. Gods above, even injured, Arya was not one to trifle with. He imagined Ramsay Bolton had made the mistake of underestimating her when he entered that room. He saw how thin she was...how pale...and he thought he could take her easily. And Arya bit back. It must have been quite the sight.

"And you, my lady?" Jaime asked at last when he had regained his tongue. "I see that you've injured your hand. Are you all right?"

"Well enough," Sansa said. "It hurts dreadfully and it will scar. But it was only my hand. Arya made sure of that." She smiled. "You can see her if you'd like. I think she's awake now. I'll arrange for a rider to go to Robb to call him off the hunt."

Jaime gave Sansa a little bow. "Yes. Thank you, Lady Sansa."

He made his way quickly from the courtyard to the keep and wound his way through the halls of Winterfell. He remembered the way to Arya's room well enough though he had only been there a few times. When he reached the door, he found it guarded by two Lannister men and he heard a voice inside.

"-must eat something, Arya. You're thin enough as it is."

Catelyn Stark. He imagined the woman was beside herself at nearly losing a child again. Jaime did feel for her. It could not be easy to be the mother of the Stark children. They were nearly always getting themselves into trouble.

"I'll eat later. I'm not hungry." That was Arya. Her voice was weak but it had a familiar petulant tone to it. He was glad to hear her speak at all. She could have died last night.

"It doesn't matter if you're hungry. You lost a lot of blood."

Jaime took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Then he waited until he heard Arya murmured: "Come in."

He opened the door and stepped inside. Arya was lying in bed, propped up on one of her pillows. Her face was deathly pale and her eyes tired, but she did not look to be on death's door. Her mother sat beside her bed with a bowl of broth in her hands. A bowl that Arya was apparently refusing.

"Jaime." Arya straightened slightly when she saw him. "You're back."

"I'm back," Jaime agreed. He glanced from her to her mother who was, as always, eyeing him with some suspicion. But there was a strange note to her gaze this time. Something like...confusion? She looked from him to Arya. And Arya looked from her to him. No one seemed to know quite where to look and it created a dreadfully awkward silence in the room.

At last, Catelyn rose and set the bowl of broth on the table beside Arya's bedside. Then she smoothed down her skirts and made for the door. "I'll be back in an hour." She paused and looked up at Jaime. "Perhaps _you_ can make her eat."

"I will try my best," Jaime said. He watched her slip from the room and closed the door behind her.

"Every time I take a bite I feel nauseous," Arya said. "So I don't want any."

"None the less, your mother is right. You need to eat." Jaime turned back to face her. "It will help you heal."

"Yes. Heal from my encounter with Ramsay." She glared at him. "You should have told me that he had escaped."

"I know." Jaime came further into the room and sat at the chair by her bedside. "The moment we left I wished I had."

"If only you had that moment sooner."

"If only."

Arya let out a short breath and looked down at her hands. Jaime watched her tug at each of the three fingers of her right hand.

"I am sorry," Jaime said. "You deserved to know. But your brother insisted and my father insisted and...well, I'm not very good at going against my father. You might have noticed."

"I have," Arya said. "But it's all right. Actually, you may have saved me in the end."

Jaime blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You're a terrible liar," Arya said. "I knew something was wrong when you came to visit me. It put me on edge, which was useful when Ramsay came."

Jaime's mouth twitched into a smile. "Well...I suppose there's that. I'm happy to help you with my terrible lying in the future if the situation calls for it."

"Better yet, help me with the truth next time," Arya said. "We are to be married you know. I hear husbands and wives are supposed to be honest with each other."

"Where did you hear _that_?" Jaime asked. "Everyone from north to the south will tell you that the key to a happy marriage is lies."

"Well then we can't very well settle for being like everyone else," Arya retorted.

Jaime laughed. Injured or not, she had not lost her sharp tongue. He was grateful that Ramsay Bolton had not taken it from her.

When his laugh faded, a silence fell on the room. Jaime studied her, trying to make sense of where she was. Her tormentor was dead. He imagined she expected her fear and pain to die with him. But behind her eyes there was still fear. Still pain. They lingered on her memories even though the one who caused them was dead.

She tried to hide it, but Arya was quite fragile following this ordeal. He would expect nothing less. Only someone with a heart of stone would remain unmoved after such an experience. And Arya did not have a heart of stone. Not even close.

"I'm fine," she said to fill the silence. "Truly."

"I didn't ask," Jaime said.

"No. But you were asking with your eyes." Arya looked up at him. "He's dead. There's no more reason for me to be afraid."

No more reason, maybe. Yet she was. He could hear it in her voice. Her strong front could fool most people perhaps. But he had grown quite familiar with this girl over the past several years. He knew when she was lying too.

He didn't push her though. She had only just escaped death. Now wasn't the time to challenge her lies. Instead he picked up the bowl of broth and held it out.

"Good. Then you should eat. That way we can keep you alive a little longer."

Arya glared at him but did not reply. Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"If you're truly all right, eating shouldn't be a problem for you."

That was all it took. A challenge. Arya grabbed the bowl of broth and took a sip from the bowl, glaring at him all the way. Jaime grinned.

When reason failed to motivated Arya Stark, spite always succeeded.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Now, some of you might be wondering about Tywin's thoughts during that scene. I am happy to give them to you.**_

 _ **Arya: I thought father was here, holding my hand.**_

 _ **Tywin, internally, not sure how to process like...any emotion other than anger: Kill me.**_

 _ **But honestly why not drive the knife of emotions further into Tywin, right? Its fun and I want him to suffer. It is payment for his many crimes.**_

 _ **Sorry for the length of the chapter but I hope you all enjoyed! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	57. Chapter 57: The Return of the Watch

_**A/N: Perhaps you've guessed by the title of this chapter but Jon is making his return this chapter! He'll only be in the story for a few chapters, but rest assured he will return later in the story. At least you get a dose of him here. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 57: Return of the Watch**

The rider sent by Sansa brought good news and bad to Robb and his men. On one hand, Ramsay Bolton was dead, killed by Arya and her wolf. Though Robb had wished for Ramsay to die by his own hand, Arya was the only other who had a right to his life. And he had no doubt that she had made it painful for him in his last moments.

The bad news was that she had acquired more injuries. She was likely to make a full recovery, but once again, Arya was confined to bed to heal from wounds she did not deserve. He should have posted guards at her door, or searched the keep from top to bottom before he left the walls. In his fury, he had not been thinking carefully and Arya had once again suffered for it.

Arya had done a great deal of suffering on Robb's behalf. Both of his sisters had. When he went to war to avenge his father, in the back of his mind, he knew that his sisters might be punished in his stead. But then Tywin Lannister had dangled Arya in front of him and demanded that he bend the knee if he did not want his sister to die.

Tywin Lannister used Arya and taken her hostage. And then the Boltons kidnapped her hoping to drive a knife further into Robb's heart. She had bled for him, not for anything she had done. Merely because she shared his name and blood and he cared for her.

It was nothing close to fair.

When he returned to Winterfell, he went to see her at once. She was sitting up when he found her, a book in her lap. Her eyes were bright though underlined by dark circles that spoke of a lack of sleep. And her face was still thin. Beneath her covers, he could not see what new wounds she may have earned and he did not want to.

"Welcome home," Arya said without looking up from the book. "How was the search?"

"You know perfectly well it was a failure," Robb murmured. "Ramsay Bolton never left."

"No. And he never will," Arya said. "I heard it was you who made the decision not to tell me."

Robb exhaled. "Yes."

"Why?" her voice was calm, but that told him well enough that she was angry with him. For leaving her at the mercy of her once captor without any proper guard to protect her perhaps. Or simply for not trusting her with the information. Not trusting her to handle herself.

"Because...I did not want you to worry," Robb said. "You had enough on your mind all ready. I thought I could spare you from the news."

"And from him," she carefully marked and closed her book, finally looking up at him. When her hair fell back, he could see a gash across her cheek where he must have cut her. A bit higher and he might have taken her eye. "I didn't ask you to protect me, Robb."

"No, but it's my job," Robb said. "I'm your brother. That's what brothers are supposed to do for their sisters. Protect them. And I haven't...I haven't been able to..." His jaw clenched. "Not when Lord Tywin took you hostage. Not when the Boltons kidnapped you. Not from any of it. And I failed again. What use is being the Lord of Winterfell if I can't protect my family?"

"I can't answer that," Arya murmured. "Father would have been to tell you, I'm sure."

Robb's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he lost his brother Brandon right? And his sister Lyanna. And his mother. And his father," Arya picked at the bandage on her right hand. "Everyone but Uncle Benjen. It's amazing that after all of that...he managed to be so warm to all of us." She looked up at him. "People fail to protect those they love all of the time. No matter how powerful they are. It doesn't mean you're weak. The world is just...cruel."

Robb felt a rise of sadness through him. Yes, his father had lost so much in Robert's Rebellion, and he had rarely spoken of it. Whenever he did, there was a haunted look in his eyes. Robb should have expected that one day he would have his own losses. The world was cruel, just as Arya said.

"You haven't lost me though," Arya said. "And you haven't lost your children. There are still quite a few Starks left."

"Yes," Robb murmured. "I'm...sorry for not telling you he had escaped."

Arya's mouth twitched into a small smile. "And I'm sorry for not leaving you some of him to kill."

Robb returned to the look. "Ah...I'm sure you made it painful. You'll have to tell me about it sometimes, when you're better."

"Gladly," Arya said.

* * *

More good news arrived within days of Robb's return to Winterfell. The war for the Wall had been won by the Night's Watch and the northern volunteers. After Lord Commander Mormont was killed in action and acting lord commander Allistair Throne was injured, Jon took control of the siege. They had fought off several waves of wildlings though their numbers showed no sign of decreasing.

So, in a bid to gain some sort of ground, the northern volunteers were sent east to cross the wall elsewhere. Then they swooped in with cavalry from behind while the wildlings were resting. In the process, the captured Mance Rayder and the wildlings on the other side had ceased their attacks. For now, they were at a standstill, but so long as they had Mance captive, the wildlings had no one to control them.

Jon was returning to Winterfell, along with the volunteer north men and other members of the Night's Watch, to help with the traitors who had elected to take the Black rather than face execution. The prisons of Winterfell would at last be emptied again. Of course there would be much to do during this transition. Robb would have to explain to the volunteers what had happened in full and bestow upon them their new lands and titles as a gift for their loyalty. He expected that the Umbers would be in for a difficult time, considering their own family turned against them and their liege lord. But at the very least it was another step toward bringing the north stability.

In the interim, Robb executed more traitors (many by his own hand, as was his father's way) and sent out small parties to search for any Bolton soldiers who had escaped the battle. He talked with his generals and decided which of the Stark loyalists would take what wards from the traitor families. The loyal Umbers could take in their own kin, of course, but who would be willing to take the children of the other families? The Glovers, Mormonts, the Reeds and Manderlys all opened up their homes, promising to treat the innocent well and raise them not to follow in their sire's footsteps.

Robb knew some of those children would hate him. Even as they swore loyalty with their mouths, they would bare their resentment in their hearts and dream of vengeance one day. It was safer, perhaps, to kill them or risk another rebellion when they were grown. But he would not take the lives of innocents. His bannermen would not respect him for that. His father neither.

When Jon arrived, he received him alone before they went to the great hall. They pulled each other into a tight embrace, one that only brothers come home from different wars could give. Either of them could have died and nearly did. Yet they had survived to see each other again.

"I'm sorry," Jon murmured. "I took many of your soldiers at the worst possible time."

"Do not apologize," Robb said. "It was a worthy cause. It would not matter if we killed the traitors if the wildling armies crossed the wall." He pulled back, clapping him on the shoulder. "Father would be proud of you. I heard rumors that you were the commander toward the end. You kept the Night's Watch together in its darkest hour."

"So they say," Jon gave him a tired smile. He seemed to have aged in these past few months. "I've only heard rumors from the wall. The rumors around Arya..." He swallowed hard. "Some say she died. Others say that Ramsay Bolton forced her to wed."

"Both are untrue," Robb said. "She's alive. And she killed Ramsay Bolton herself just a fortnight ago."

Jon released a breath. "And everyone else? Bran, Sansa? The children?"

"All alive. All well enough. Bran is short a few fingers. So is Arya. Everyone has their own injuries," Robb said. "The children... well Lyanna and Ben at least will forget this ever happened in a few years' time. Ned will only barely remember."

Jon studied his face. He knew that Robb had not told him everything. "There was...another rumor. About your wife."

Robb glanced off to the wide, studying the torch on the wall, watching it flicker gently. "That one is true."

"Robb, I'm sorry."

He shook her head. "Her murderer is dead. It's done with."

"No it's not," Jon said. "Of course it's not."

Robb felt a wave of emotions rise up in him again. He only let himself feel them on a few scattered occasions when he was alone. But usually, he was not alone. He was attending to the endless list of responsibilities or comforting the children or facing those who had betrayed him. He could not show weakness in any case. But here, alone with his brother, he felt it again, burning at his eyes.

 _We have not even had time for a proper funeral,_ he thought. _It's all such an awful disaster._

Jon rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Robb rested a hand over his, nodding once. He didn't trust himself to speak.

After a moment of silence, Jon was kind enough to move on. "So...you have recruits for the Night's Watch."

"Many," Robb said. "If nothing else, this war will make sure that the wall once again has enough men to guard it."

"It will be welcome," Jon said. "Mance may be captive and many of his wildlings surrendered. But there's still trouble in the north. Something made them unite and march on the wall in mass. Not just hatred for us but fear."

"Fear of what?" Robb asked.

Jon hesitated. "I'm...not entirely sure. Not yet. But there are growing rumors of dark things in the far north."

"Dark things. Like in Old Nan's stories?" Robb raised an eyebrow.

"Only not stories," Jon said. "You know me, Robb. I'm not paranoid and I'm not a fool. If a few moons from now I send a letter to you with strange words...will you believe them?"

Robb didn't quite know how to respond. No, his brother wasn't a fool and he wasn't the type to engage in strange gossip. They had both been laughing at Old Nan's dark tales since they were old enough to dismiss them as stories. But he could not fathom facing another enemy so soon after this rebellion. The north needed time to heal.

"I'll believe you," he said at last. "But all the same, I hope you never send that letter."

"So do I," Jon murmured, with a voice as somber as the statues in the crypts beneath them.

* * *

Arya had not expected to see Jon again before she returned south, so his arrival in her room sent an unexpected burst of joy through her. He was tired and haggard by his own long war, and his messy hair had grown long enough that he had to keep it pulled back. But he was still Jon, and she had missed him dearly.

Bran was sitting with her in her room when he arrived, and his whole demeanor brightened. In fact, he nearly dropped his book. "Jon! We heard you might be coming home."

"Yes. Only briefly, but I'm here." Jon leaned down to give him a kiss on his forehead.

If Arya could, she might've leapt out of the bed to embrace him. Instead she only shifted and grinned at the sight of him. "Brief is enough. I worried it would be another four years between our visits."

"No," Jon crossed to her, embracing her very gently. "Robb has many traitors to send to the wall and Allistair Thorne assigned me to help escort them."

"That was kind of him," Arya said.

"Not kind. I would never call Thorne kind, especially not to me," Jon said. "I think he just wanted to get me out of Castle Black. We will have to elect a new Lord Commander soon now that the fighting is done. There's some talk of...nominating me."

"That would be a great honor," Bran said. "I've read about the Lord Commanders...you might be the youngest ever if you were chosen."

"I'm not sure I want the role," Jon said. "It is a great deal of responsibility. I may not like Thorne but he has more experience than me. I am sure the Watch will choose him." He looked between Arya and Bran. "And how are both of you? Recovering? I heard about the fingers."

Bran held up his right hand to show them missing. "They don't hurt any longer. And I've already discovered how to write without them though my handwriting is awful."

Arya waved her right hand as well. "Lucky for me, they went for my right instead of my left. As Bran said, it's not hurting anymore."

"But Arya has far more injuries than that," Bran said.

Arya shot him a glare. "I don't. I'm fine."

"She's not. She's been in bed for a fortnight," Bran said. "And for longer before that. Because she has almost died twice in the past month."

Arya let out a long sigh as she felt Jon's worried gaze turn on her. "I'm fine. Maester Luwin says I'm nearly well enough to walk around again without aggravating my wounds. I'll have scars but nothing permanent besides the fingers." She lifted her chin. "Really, whatever you heard, they're being dramatic."

"Are they?" Jon's mouth twitched. "So you didn't kill Ramsay Bolton with your bare hands?"

"No. I had a knife, two swords and a wolf," Arya said. "All very helpful."

"So needle did you some good then?"

"Needle always does me good. I poked a hole in him, just like you said."

Jon smiled softly and mussed her hair and Arya fought down a wave of grief at seeing that smile. She was lying to him like all of the others. Pretending to be all right when she wasn't. Most of them saw through it because they had seen her in the direct aftermath of the attack. But Jon, simply because he had arrived on a good day, seemed to believe her.

Somehow that was worse. She didn't like lying to him, but telling the truth was something she couldn't bear.

"How long will you be here?" Bran asked, thankfully changing the subject.

"Only a few days. There's much to do at the wall, and these new recruits will be needed," Jon said.

"Good," Bran said. "Because when you leave, I want you to take me as well."

Jon was clearly taken aback by this and Arya shot Bran a look. He hadn't mentioned this to her yet, and likely hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Their mother would never even hear of it. Why would he want to leave now?

Then she remembered. The conversation they had just before they were snatched up by the Boltons. A conversation about his dreams.

" _I've dreamed...about a false spring,"_ he had said. " _Of the warmth returning to Westeros but only for a very short while. I've dreamed of a winter without end that will follow. And of the blue eyed creatures that come with it."_

"Bran the Wall is...its dangerous there," Jon said. "This is hardly the time for you to visit."

"I won't go beyond the wall," Bran said. "I would just like to get away from Winterfell for a while. I have bad dreams here, and I've always wanted to see the wall. Now that the war is over, I can."

 _Liar,_ Arya thought. He remembered what he had told her in the Godswood just before they were taken.

" _The trees have been whispering to me. Telling me to go north. I think I need to go beyond the wall."_

He did want to go north of the wall to investigate his dreams. But perhaps he knew that Jon would not say yes if he knew the nature of those dreams.

Jon looked from Bran to Arya. He seemed to notice the concerned glint in her eyes and he shook his head. "You're not telling me the whole truth, Bran. Why do you really want to go?"

"I said-"

"The truth, or I say 'no' right now and you will not budge me from it," Jon said.

Bran exhaled, straightening in his chair. "I've been having strange dreams for a while now. It's hard to explain them all, but they are all urging me to go north. I think the answers are there."

"What do you see in these dreams?" Jon asked.

"Many things," Bran said. "But most of all I see the dead rising with blue eyes and marching on the wall."

Arya expected Jon to dismiss these visions and assure Bran that the white walkers were just old stories and legends, long buried by time. He didn't. Instead, his expression was unsettled, even afraid.

"You've seen them too then," he asked.

"Have you seen them?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Jon said. "Not in my dreams though. I have seen the dead rise with my own eyes. So have many others."

Arya's eyes widened. She had not expected that at all.

"So you understand the danger," Bran said.

"Aye, I understand it," Jon said. "So why would I let you go anywhere near it?"

"Because I think...I think I can help," Bran said. "I can't explain why or how but I know in my bones that I can do _something_." He gripped the sides of his chair. "Please, Jon. I'm losing my mind sitting here day after day, reading and dreaming. If I can't find the truth of these things, they'll drive me mad. Just...you need to take me to the wall. I don't know if it will help, but it's something. Please."

Jon lapsed into silence, staring grimly at the floor. Arya gripped her quilt tightly, looking from him to Bran. Then:

"Your mother will never agree," Jon said.

"I'll convince her," Bran said. "I promise."

"They could just be dreams," Jon reminded him.

Bran leaned forward in his seat. "I've dismissed my dreams as nothing for long enough. It could be nonsense, yes. But what if it's not?"

Arya shivered as she remembered a dream of her own. A dream of looking out that window and seeing the slow creep of icy darkness across Westeros. A dream of dragons and ice and fire and blood. Yes, maybe it was nonsense.

But what if?

"I'll take you," Jon said at last. "But only if your mother agrees. And only if you promise to do exactly as I say."

"I will," Bran said, and though it might have been a lie, this time Jon did not question him. Perhaps he did not think her mother would say yes, so it did not matter. Arya had no idea how Bran might convince her.

But if he did, Bran and Jon would go to the wall, and Arya would soon be going south again. Sansa too if this possible marriage with Willas was still to happen.

"I suppose we'll all be leaving home again soon," Arya murmured, more to herself than to her brothers. But they heard her all the same.

Jon smiled sadly, ruffling her hair again. "Yes. But one way or another, we always find our way back."

Arya smiled in return. Yes. They did.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Gotta love those Stark interactions (get them while you can because Arya is going south again soon). We'll see if Bran manages to go north! Thanks, as always, for all of your support. Review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	58. Chapter 58: Many Farewells

_**A/N: I got a long damn chapter for you! Lots of character interactions. Lots of laughs and tears. Which one would expect from a chapter with this title. We're bringing that northern arc to a close!**_ _ **In any case, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 58: Many Farewells**

Arya was beginning to go mad staying in her room. She knew that walking too much could aggravate her wounds, but she doubted just a short stroll would harm her. She merely had to be careful. So it was one morning, when she felt as if she was about to jump out of her skin from the boredom, that she tossed her book to the side and eased herself to her feet. She tugged on her shoes and her winter clothing with painstaking effort, then opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Her two guards were both surprised to see her up and glanced nervously between themselves. "Lady Arya...should you be moving?"

"The Maester said this morning that I was allowed a short walk," Arya lied smoothly. "Don't worry, I won't be long."

She continued past them, trying to walk as normally as possible so that they wouldn't suspect. She moved along the wall, keeping her hand against the stone to steady herself. The wind was not as chilling as usual and the sun had come out that morning. It was a good day to be outside, and she had missed it. It was even worth the sharp ache in her side when she took too sudden a step and had to stop to take a few shallow breaths.

 _I will look forward to basic movements and breathing no longer hurting,_ she thought.

"Lady Arya?"

Arya said a few silent curses in her head at the sound of Tywin Lannister's voice. Very slowly she turned to lean against the bannister, giving him a smile.

"Good morning, Lord Tywin. This is unexpected."

"It is," Tywin agreed. "Seeing as you aren't supposed to be out of bed."

"That's not true," Arya lifted her chin. "Maester Luwin told me this morning that I could leave my room for a short while."

"What did I tell you that you could do?"

Arya let out an annoyed breath. Maester Luwin. Why were all of the exactly wrong people finding her at this particular moment? Seven hells, she only wanted to see outside of her room for a few seconds.

Tywin raised his eyebrows, not taking his eyes off of Arya. "Apparently, you told her that she could leave her room and walk about."

"Did I?" Maester Luwin stopped beside them. "Perhaps I am getting old. I don't quite recall that."

Arya glared at him. "Well, you told me I was getting better."

"That I did. That does not count as permission to go for a walk unattended," Maester Luwin said. "You need to be mindful of your wounds, Lady Arya. If you open them again, it will only mean a longer recovery."

"I am mindful. I'm walking very carefully," Arya said. "Please, just a short time? At least let me sit somewhere differently for a while. If I have to stare at my wall for one more moment..." She trailed off. Truthfully, it wasn't just the boredom. That room was the last place she had seen Ramsay and it was the place where she had killed him. Even though he was dead, sometimes she could see his shadow on the walls.

"Well, I don't think sitting in a different place will hurt you," Maester Luwin said. "If perhaps, Lord Tywin would not mind lending you a hand?"

He glanced meaningfully at Tywin and the man's brow furrowed, a glint of warning passing through his eyes. "No. I wouldn't," he said coolly.

Maester Luwin nodded his head, the smallest smile on his face. Then he left them there.

"What was that?" Arya asked.

"What do you mean?" Tywin asked.

"That was...a strange look you gave Maester Luwin just now. Why?"

"I didn't give him any sort of look in particular," Tywin said, though his voice was still flat at the assertion. He was lying but Arya had no idea what he could be lying about. Had he and Maester Luwin talked while she was recovering?

 _Why is my maester talking to Tywin Lannister?_ Arya wondered. _When did my life grow so strange?_

"In any case, I was making my way toward the great hall. You may join me if you wish," Tywin held out his arm. "Or go back to your room. It does not matter to me."

"Fine. Great hall." Arya accepted his arm, trying not to grip too tightly onto it. "At least that's some sort of change."

* * *

Robb had just finished conducting business in the hall when they arrived, and it was mostly empty by now. Only their family lingered. Jon and Robb were still talking about the Night's Watch, Catelyn and Sansa sat off to one edge discussing some matter in hush tones. Even Bran was there, sitting in his chair, looking from his mother to Jon. Arya wondered if he had asked permission to leave and go north yet.

Tywin guided Arya to the back corner before letting her sit at one of the tables. She let out a breath of relief when she lowered herself onto the wooden bench. The walk had actually taken quite a lot out of Arya but she was fighting not to show it. Which meant, naturally, Lord Tywin noticed.

"Wishing you had not left your room?" Tywin asked.

Arya glared at him. "No. This is just fine."

His mouth twitched and he turned his eyes to Robb and Jon. "Is that your bastard brother there?"

"My brother, yes," Arya said, a testy note in her voice. She did not like it when anyone called Jon 'bastard'.

"Refusing to call him 'bastard' does not change what he is," Tywin said.

"Exactly," Arya said. "So there's no need to mention it."

"Hmm." Tywin studied her brother. "He does have a familiar look to him."

"Everyone says he looks like my father," Arya said.

"Yes," Tywin said, though his look was strange. "I suppose he does."

"-be able to leave in a few days," Jon was saying. "We're trying to sort through all of the new recruits here so that they don't cause chaos when they arrive at Castle Black. They need to know the rules and situations beforehand."

"You can stay for as long as you'd like. It's no trouble," Robb said. "And if there are any men not suited to the watch, let me know. I will be happy to dispense a different kind of justice."

Jon nodded. "I will."

"Robb." Bran raised his voice then. "I have a request as well, if you'll hear it."

Robb glanced up from his conversation with Jon, surprised. Arya quickly exchanged glances with Jon. Bran was asking now and he was doing so with an audience. That meant he would have multiple opinions and perhaps a better chance at persuading the mother. Especially if he could convince Robb.

"When Jon leaves, I would like to go with him to visit the wall," Bran said. "I've wanted to see it for some time now."

Their mother stood at once. "Bran, absolutely not. They're in the aftermath of a war. It isn't safe there."

"Winterfell is in the aftermath of a war as well," Bran said. "And I was taken hostage in our own Godswood. Years ago, I was held hostage here. Why should the Wall be any more dangerous than Winterfell?"

It was an excellent point. Winterfell did not seem quite as safe as it once did when they were children and had nothing to fear. Bran's words made their mother fall silent for a moment as she tried to think of some retort.

"Why do you want to go to the wall?" Robb asked. "Why now?"

"Winter is fading. Everyone says so," Bran said. "It seemed a good time."

"Then why not wait until spring has fully settled?"

"Because I would like to go with Jon. Since he is already here, it's more convenient."

Bran answered the queries without any hesitation; as if he had thought of every possible question he might be asked. Arya wondered how long he had been planning to find some way to the wall. Ever since the dreams began? Perhaps he would have asked earlier had he not been taken by the Freys.

"Mother is right," Robb said. "The Wall is a dangerous place in the aftermath of the conflict with Mance Rayder. There could be rogue wildlings still attacking. What if they were to go after you?"

"We would not let that happen," Jon spoke up. "The defenses at the wall are secure and all wildlings that managed to clamor to our side of the wall have been dealt with. With the new recruits we will have more hands. Castle Black will be as safe as any other place."

Robb glanced at Jon. "You're sure of that."

"Yes," Jon said.

"It does not matter how safe it is. It's a hard journey north. And even if the Wall is no more dangerous...there is no reason to leave," Catelyn said.

Bran did not waver. "Mother. Please. Winterfell feels...dangerous to me right now. Even stray shadows make me jump. I keep wondering what will happen if I'm taken again."

"You won't be," Catelyn said.

"Maybe not, but the possibility is there and it's tormenting me," Bran said. "I'd like to get away for a while. The Wall is as good a place as any and I'll be with Jon. He can keep me safe."

Their mother turned her sharp gaze on Jon. "Can you? Have you made such promises to him?"

"I would never take him anywhere without your permission, Lady Stark," Jon said. "But yes, I can keep him safe. I would not let anything happen to him. I swear it."

Another silence passed through the room as Catelyn seemed to search for more arguments against Bran's request. In the silence, Arya dared to speak up.

"Bran's not wrong to want to get away from Winterfell for a bit," she said. "It still smells of death. And I've been jumping at the shadows too. Besides, he's always wanted to see the Wall. So many Starks have gone there, why not him?"

"I don't think he will be in any danger, mother," Sansa said. "It can be a short visit. We can send some of the household guard with him as well."

"I hoped to take Hodor," Bran said. "He can carry me on his back. And he has been seeing shadows on the walls too. The Boltons were cruel to him when they had the castle. He could use some time away from the keep."

"Hodor would be welcome," Jon said. "And if wildlings attack the Wall, you have my word that I will send Bran straight back home to you."

Catelyn looked around the room, searching for someone who might be on her side. Bran and Jon's opinion she could dismiss easily enough. But Arya and Sansa were backing Bran as well, and Robb seemed as if he might do the same with a bit more urging.

"Please, Robb," Bran murmured. "Mother."

"I'll allow it," Robb said. "If mother does."

Catelyn stared down at her hands, twisting a ring about her finger. Then she looked up at Jon again. "If anything happens to him-"

"Nothing will," Jon said. "By the old gods and the new, I will keep him safe."

Catelyn nodded once, then looked to Bran. "Very well. Then you may go. But only for a brief time. And you must write while you are there."

Bran smiled. "Thank you."

Arya's mouth twitched. He had actually managed it. But her brother was nothing if not good with words. He was always the best in school between all of them, and always exceptional at arguing as well.

Beside Arya, Tywin stood from his seat. "Now that you have settled the matter of your youngest, I came to announce my own plans to depart."

"Ah, yes," Robb said. "I noticed the Lannister armies have been pulling back over the past few days. I assumed this was coming."

"I will ride out tomorrow with the rest," Tywin said. "In a few days, Arya will follow with Jaime's men. Your maester says she will be fit to travel by then."

"A few days?" Catelyn asked "Already?"

"She has already stayed much longer than was originally planned," Tywin said. "It is time that she returned to the south."

"She is still healing though," Catelyn said. "Why not let her stay until she has healed?"

"Mother, it's fine," Arya found herself saying. She was surprised to hear herself speaking up in favor of this plan, and yet... "I...I'm ready to go south again."

Oddly, she wasn't saying such things just to appease her mother or ease her worries. She actually _did_ want to go south. Arya never thought she would want such a thing, but fear of the past was a strange beast. Like Bran, she saw shadows on the wall.

Catelyn studied her. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Besides, you will see me again soon. For the wedding. It won't be four years until we meet. Not this time."

Catelyn nodded once as she seemed to remember the wedding. Then she exhaled. "All of my children are making plans to leave me today. Bran, Arya. Sansa as well."

Sansa looked away. Arya wondered if she would soon be heading south to the Reach to meet with her soon to be groom. She suddenly felt very guilty. It must be hard for her mother saying goodbye to so many children at once.

"Very well," Catelyn said at last, looking to Tywin. "She will leave when Maester Luwin gives permission."

Tywin inclined his head and sat again. As attention turned away from him, he glanced at Arya. "I did not expect you to make that easier."

"Neither did I," Arya said. "But will be nicer to stare at the countryside for a while instead of the stone."

After all, these walls were haunted now. Not by ghosts. She did not believe that the dead could come back from beyond. But they were haunted by memories and fear, and that, somehow, was worse.

* * *

Not long after, the hall cleared and Arya decided that she was ready to brave her room again. Tywin assisted her half way there until they ran into Jaime and he handed her off to him.

"See that Lady Arya returns to her room."

"Was she supposed to be out of her room in the first place?" Jaime asked.

"No. Of course she wasn't," Tywin said. "So tell her guards to make sure that she doesn't leave again for the remainder of the day."

"I will," Jaime said. "I hear we will be leaving soon."

"We will," Tywin said. "You and your men will transport Arya safely south. I imagine it will take you longer with your injuries, but it will be up to you not to lose her this time."

"I won't," Jaime said. "Of course I won't."

From there, Tywin left them and Jaime began helping Arya back to her room. It was a painful process and Arya's wounds ached from the exertion thus far. She would be glad to be back in her bed for once.

But before they got very much further, they met with another familiar face. Jon. He looked from Arya to Jaime, his dark eyes narrowing.

"Lannister."

"Snow." Jaime nodded once. "I was just seeing your sister back to her room."

"Of course," Jon said. "But first...I have a question. In the hall today, your father mentioned a wedding down south."

 _Seven hells,_ Arya thought. _Jon doesn't know yet._

"Whose wedding was he discussing?" Jon asked.

Jaime looked suddenly rather uncomfortable. "Ah...your sister's wedding."

"Interesting," Jon said. "To who?"

Jaime remained silent, his jaw tightening. But the silence seemed to answer Jon's question clearly enough. He took a threatening step forward.

"Arya...would you let go of Ser Jaime?"

Arya saw the rage clear on her brother's face, just behind his dark eyes. "I... don't want to," she said flatly. "I'll fall."

"Lean against the wall then." Jon did not take his eyes of Jaime. His hand was rested on his sword. "Just for a moment."

"Arya, do not let go of me," Jaime muttered under his breath.

"Jon, he only has one hand. This isn't a fair fight," Arya said.

"Perhaps not, but I'd like to have it," Jon said. "Exactly when did you decide you were going to marry my sister? When she was thirteen? Or was it a recent development?"

"I did not _decide_ anything," Jaime said. "My father makes the decisions in my family. He arranged the match. I promise I had nothing to do it."

"I can't imagine you protested," Jon said.

"I did actually. Charming as your sister is, I wasn't keen on the match at all," Jaime said.

"He's telling the truth, Jon," Arya said. "Jaime and I were both rather furious about it. We still might be furious except recent events made the impending wedding one of the less difficult matters in our lives."

"Yes, I'm sure once we're bored in the south, we will start our complaints anew," Jaime said. "Really, Snow. I understand you're protective, but I'd rather not fight you in front of the lady."

"Yes, because the lady is too injured to fight," Arya said. "It would be impolite to taunt her with that fact."

"You see?" Jaime gestured to her. "We can't possibly fight."

Jon's grip slowly relaxed on his sword. "No. Not here and now. Because she does not wish it." He took a step forward. "But I don't trust you, Lannister. And if you ever harm her-"

"I'm sure I can imagine what you'll do," Jaime said.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Jon said. Then he looked down at Arya. "I'm sorry that you have found yourself in such a situation."

"I've been in worse," Arya smiled. "Don't worry about me Jon. If he harms me, I'll handle him myself."

Jon's mouth twitched into a smile. Then he continued on past them down the hall, his black cape swishing violently behnd him.

"Your brother does have a certain intensity," Jaime commented after a long pause.

"It's the wolf in him," Arya said. "He has the northern look more than almost all of our siblings."

"Yes. There is a bit of Ned Stark in him, no doubt. Must be why he doesn't seem to like me," He glanced over his shoulder. "There's something else familiar about him though."

"Like what?" Arya asked.

"I'm not entirely sure." Jaime shrugged. "But I don't suppose it matters."

* * *

The next few days were filled with many partings and goodbyes. The first of them was from Lord Tywin. Much of the Lannister army had been slowly leaving over the last fortnight, but at last, nearly all of the red and gold vanished from Winterfell. Still, it strangely did not bring relief to the north. Many of the northern soldiers, in fact, were seen bidding farewell to the Lannister ones. They had once faced each other on the battlefield several times over, but for once, they had been allied in a single cause, and that was something rather spectacular.

Robb did not seem very sad to see Tywin go, of course. But neither was he glad. Arya watched them observing each other in the courtyard with a certain degree of stiff trepidation. But also...something of respect, which she had certainly never expected to see.

"You'll come south when your sister weds, I hope," Tywin said. "Your presence will be a statement of peace between our houses."

"Aye. But I must make sure the north is stable before I can leave," Robb said. "If you give me time, I will arrange to come south."

"That should not be a problem," Tywin said. "Arya needs more time to return to full health. It will give you time to get things under control here."

Robb nodded once. "Safe travels on the road, Lord Tywin."

Tywin nodded once. "Best of luck with the north."

"I trust you will see that Arya recovers fully," her mother spoke up, a courteous but sharp smile on her face. "Because I will be coming south as well for the wedding. When I do, I hope to see that no other harm has befallen her."

"It won't," Tywin said. "And we will welcome you in the south, Lady Stark."

"Will you?"

"Naturally. The kingdoms should see that every Stark is in support of this match."

There was a certain ice in both of their tones, but nothing truly aggressive. It was so odd to see her mother and Lord Tywin holding a conversation at all. She wondered for a moment at how often they had spoken when she was imprisoned and her head spun at the thought.

 _My two worlds have collided because of me and it is very strange._

At last, Lord Tywin swung onto his horse and donned his helmet. But before he rode through the gate, he passed by Arya, slowing his horse in front of her seat. She lifted her chin to look up at him. "Yes, Lord Tywin? Any last orders?"

"Only that you return to the south in one piece," Tywin said. "No more diversions."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Yes, my lord. I will try my best."

"Trying does not satisfy me. You will return south," Tywin said firmly.

"I will, then. I promise," Arya said. "Safe travels."

"Safe travels."

Then Tywin urged his horse toward the gate. Arya watched until it closed behind him.

She would see him again soon, she had no doubt, and this time when she returned to the Red Keep they would not be aggressively ignoring each other. They seemed to have gotten past their argument, even though they had never truly addressed it.

Perhaps they were both content to leave the past in the past.

* * *

The next day, Jon and Bran took their leave, and that goodbye was infinitely harder. Arya had no idea when she would see them again. She doubted that Bran would be able to make the journey south to King's Landing, and Jon was bound by the Night's Watch to stay.

She hugged Bran for quite a long time and told him that she would miss him. And when she was sure their mother was not close enough to overhear, she whispered to him.

"Be careful. Whatever side of the wall you see...be careful."

Bran smiled softly when she pulled back and nodded. "I hope you feel better soon, Arya."

Jon hugged Arya once she broke away from Bran. "I'm glad our paths crossed again before you had to leave."

"Maybe they'll cross again soon," Arya said, though her voice broke.

"I hope so," Jon smiled. "I'll write you if they allow you any letters."

"They allow me two swords, Jon. _Of course_ they allow me letters."

Jon grinned and mussed her hair. "Right. Of course."

Arya had Robb help her up onto the wall so that she could watch Jon and the new members of the Night's watch stream off into the thick mist. She exhaled and said a silent prayer of safety for them. She did not much believe in gods, but she would pray to them just in case.

The next few days, she spent in the company of her remaining family. Sansa tried to guide her through some needle work, laughing gently when she failed miserably. Her mother helped her brush her long, matted hair out. It had grown much longer than it was used to but her mother bid her keep it that way for a while.

"You are welcome to cut it again after you are wed. But you do have such lovely hair Arya. Your hand maidens will mourn the chance to work with it if you cut it all off."

Arya smiled once as she was suddenly reminded of Shae, who had always wished for her hair to be longer so that she could braid it. She quite missed her old handmaid, and even more than that she missed Tyrion. It would be sweet to see them again one day.

For her mother and Shae, she supposed she would leave her hair long for a bit.

She was not able to spend much time with her brother as he was still very busy, but he ate meals with them when he could. She did sit with the children, however, when they played. Already, they seemed to be smiling again, as if the rebellion had never happened. Children were resilient, and she knew these three would grow up to be true Starks.

More than anything, Arya tried to imprint the walls of Winterfell on her mind. She tried to absorb the memory of every room. The sounds. The smells. The sight of the Stark banner flapping overhead. This was her home after all.

If only she could erase the memories of Ramsay from this place...then it would not be so tainted by pain.

* * *

The next morning, just as a flash of pink cut across the sky, Arya left Winterfell. She embraced her mother and sister as tightly as she could, given her condition. She accepted a kiss on the forehead from Robb and tried not to cry when she felt it. She ruffled little Ned's hair and promised Lyanna she would return soon to play knights with her.

Her mother charged Jaime to make sure he protected her on the road and Jaime promised to do so, running a hand awkwardly through his hair. It had grown quite long over the course of the war, just like hers.

At last, after they had lingered too long in the Winterfell courtyard, they passed beneath the gates and started down the King's road. Arya say up in the cart that carried her and watched Winterfell grow smaller and smaller, until it was like a doll's house on the horizon.

Then she heard a howl. Arya turned her head to see Nymeria sprinting down the road, pursuing the cart as quickly as she could. Arya shuddered and called out. "Stop! Stop for a minute!"

They did. Arya stepped out of the cart, nearly falling to her knees as she did. And Nymeria met her there, her great shoulders heaving as she panted for breath.

"I almost left without saying goodbye, didn't I? I'm sorry." Arya ran her fingers through Nymeria's thick coat. "We shouldn't part on bad terms again, should we? We don't know when I'll be back."

Nymeria let out a low whine, nudging Arya's face with her wet nose.

"You shouldn't come with me, girl," Arya murmured. "You wouldn't like it in the south. King's Landing is too crowded. You need the woods and your brothers for company. You'll be happier up here." She swallowed a thick lump in her throat. "Can you...take care of them for me? While I'm gone? Can you can keep them safe?"

Nymeria stared deep into her eyes for a long while. She could not answer in words, and yet, an understanding passed silently between them. A promise. At last, Nymeria nuzzled Arya one more time. Then she turned and ran off in the opposite direction.

 _I suppose I didn't need any rocks to make her go this time._

A few tears rolled down Arya's cheeks as she watched her wolf disappear into the woods. Then she lowered her head, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"Arya," Jaime murmured from beside her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." A few tears rolled down Arya's cheeks, hidden by her curtain of dark hair. "I'm ready."

* * *

 _ **A/N: I enjoyed a lot of conversations in this chapter, but I think my favorite was the sly dig from Maester Luwin.**_

 _ **Luwin: If Tywin wouldn't mind lending you a...hand *finger guns*  
**_

 _ **Tywin: You motherfucker**_

 _ **Because yes, if you guys didn't know, Luwin saw Tywin holding Arya's hand for a brief moment and he gets to live with that exciting little fun fact.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed the rest of the chapter as well! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time.**_


	59. Chapter 59: The Long Road Home

_**A/N: Did someone order a chapter with a lot of emotions? Cause that's what you're getting! Hope you enjoy a lot!**_

 **Chapter 59: The Long Road Home**

The journey south was long and slow. Of course, Arya could not ride on horseback with her injuries, so she had to be pulled by cart the whole way through. This made for many delays as they traveled through snow and mud. If they came across an obstacle they could not cross, then they had to find a way around, or else stop for Jaime's men to clear it away.

Jaime's men made for a substantial guard for Arya during her journey. Attacking would be foolish, even for the Brotherhood without Banners. And after what happened to the Boltons and the Freys, no one would dare try. Still, it never hurt to take precautions. When they could, they stayed at the inns so that they would not be out in the open. Shelter was better for Arya's healing anyhow.

The guards and the shelter, however, could not do anything to fight off her nightmares.

She had hoped they might cease once she left Winterfell. She had been a prisoner in her own home for at time and it had made it hard to sleep there even once she was freed. But as the cold faded and the snow turned to mud beneath the wheels of the carriage, the bad dreams persisted. Often, she woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, her heart pounding against her still healing rib cage.

And when she woke, she was always alone. Alone in the back of the carriage, alone in a room where they had stopped for the night, alone with her thoughts. The thoughts were the worst bit. Because she could never bring herself to tell anyone what had happened. Her memories were known only to her, so how could she explain her fear without explaining its cause?

Fear mixed with frustration mixed with self-hatred. Ramsay Bolton was dead and gone now. She had killed him herself. But he lingered in her mind and sometimes she still heard his voice in her ear.

 _Gods, why am I so weak_? She wondered more than once. _Why did I ever think I was strong?_

She never voiced these questions or concerns out loud. She hid them from the guards and from Jaime with sullen silence. Whenever Jaime asked after her wellbeing, she answered him with clipped words or changed the subject.

She wanted to forget. Now that it was all over and done with and she was back on the road to King's Landing, she wanted to forget. And to forget...she couldn't talk about it. So she avoided conversation with Jaime when she was shaken from a nightmare. She avoided conversation with everyone.

But her nightmares did not wait for a convenient moment to harass her. This one found her one night at an inn on the southern border of the Riverlands. In the dream, she was back in her almost-wedding dress, dyed half red from blood. Ramsay Bolton was carrying her back to her room, humming gleefully to himself.

" _You almost got away from me. I'm glad I brought you back."_

" _You're mine now, little wolf."_

She awoke screaming. As soon as she felt the cry leaving her throat, she clapped a hand over her mouth to smother it, hoping that no one else had heard. It was too much to hope for. Seconds later, the door to her room opened. Jaime stood in the doorway, a hand rested on his sword.

"Arya? Are you..."

"Fine," she said too quickly. The dream lingered in the back of her mind and made her voice shake. "I'm fine. A nightmare. That's all."

"Is it?" Jaime asked.

"Yes. Everyone has nightmares once and awhile, Jaime. It's not that strange," Arya said.

"You're right," Jaime said. "But this is far from the first time I've heard you cry out in your sleep. This was just...louder than the usual scream."

Arya felt her body flush with shame. How many soldiers had heard her scream into the night?

"Forget about it," Arya said. "I'm fine. You may leave."

Jaime did not leave. Rather he stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. "How long are you going to feed that lie to me?" Jaime asked. "You know I won't believe it. I haven't believed it since you first escaped."

"I don't care." Arya stepped out of her bed, stalking over to the opposite wall. She was still trembling from the dream and she hugged her arms to make it stop. "I don't need your help. I just need a bit of time. A bit of time and it will all fade and I will be back to how I was. In the meantime, stop...stop _looking_ at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm weak."

"I'm not looking at you because I think you're weak. It's because I'm concerned."

"What do you want me to say?" Arya whirled around to face him. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to break down in tears and admit how afraid I was? How helpless I felt? Do you want to hear about he used to torment me or how I still see him in my dreams?" Her voice cracked. "Will that make you less _concerned_? Will it make you stop _pushing_ me? Will that help me sleep through the night?"

He didn't reply. He stared at her in shock. She realized that a few tears had escaped her eyes and she hurried to wipe them from her cheeks, glaring at her lap. She couldn't look at him. The worry-the genuine, sincere worry-made her want to cry more. But if she did, she knew she might never stop.

She waited for him to turn around and leave her alone so that she could breathe in peace again. He didn't. He stayed right where he was. Until at last, he let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"I was...named to the King's Guard when I was fifteen," he said. "Youngest King's guard in the history of the realm." He traced his left hand along the edge of the small table set against the wall, rubbing his thumb against the corner. "At the time, I was fool enough to think it was an honor. I had read great tales about the knights who defended their noble kings. And I was to be one of them. It was a proud moment for me."

Arya studied him warily. She wasn't sure why he was telling her this, but at least he wasn't questioning her anymore. So she would not stop him.

Jaime exhaled. "It didn't last long. Soon enough I found that the king I served wasn't noble in the least. The sword in my hand was functionally useless when it really mattered. And I wasn't named because of my skill...I was named to be a hostage."

"A hostage?" Arya murmured.

"Yes. Aerys wanted to use me against my father. Wanted to burn me alive if my father ever dared to act against his interests. They had a falling out some time ago and...well I was the heir to Casterly Rock. Why not take that away and keep me close at hand just in case he wanted to turn me to ash." Jaime smiled bitterly. "He never did, obviously. But he turned others to ash in front of me. Over and over again, I saw men plead for their lives. And women. Sometimes children as well. So many of them burned-including your grandfather and your uncle. And I just watched. I stood there _knowing_ that I should draw my sword. That I _needed_ to draw my sword. But it was so heavy in my hand. I couldn't do it. I couldn't fight the king because I swore a vow. And if I did well...then he would kill me, and I was afraid to die back then." He shook his head. "I might as well have had a wooden stick."

 _A wooden stick, or no weapon at all,_ Arya thought. Yes, she knew that feeling. That helpless feeling.

"All the King's guard I thought were so noble couldn't do a thing against that monster," Jaime continued. "Not when he raped his wife, not when he burned the innocent, not when his mad cackles filled the keep. We were all useless. The castle felt like something of a prison." He shook his head. "And this one time...it was after the rebellion had already started you see, and he was getting paranoid. He called me to him and gripped my wrist hard in his bony hand. Hard enough to leave a bruise. He said...why hasn't your father come to my aid yet? Where is he? Why would your father abandon his friends? I didn't have an answer naturally. I stayed silent. But then he smiled at me. It was the worst smile I think I've ever seen in my life. And he asked...'do you think...if I burn you...he will come sooner?'"

Silence rang throughout the tent and Arya had absolutely no idea what to say. Jaime spoke the words as if he were speaking them for the first time. How long had he kept some of these memories locked away?

"I don't remember exactly how I replied," Jaime said. "I think...I think I said something like 'if you wish to burn me, you may. You are my king'. I hope that I didn't stammer the words. I hope I sounded brave. But I can't be sure. All I know is he laughed. He laughed and laughed for what seemed like hours until he finally let me go." He exhaled. "He didn't burn me obviously. But sometimes even years later I still dream of that laugh and the smile and the threats of fire. He's been dead for so long. I know it for sure, because I stabbed him in the back. But he's still in my memories. And sometimes those memories spill into dreams. And I am right back to that sixteen year old boy with a heavy hand and a stick for a sword."

"So...you're saying Ramsay will never leave my dreams?" Arya muttered, clenching her fists so tight that her nails dug craters into her palm. "Even decades down the line...he'll still remain?"

"Only a shadow of him," Jaime said. "The real monster is dead, Arya. You slayed him yourself. Just like I slayed mine. What's left is only an echo. But yes...it may come back to you many years from now. It doesn't make you weak. Truly it doesn't." He took a step forward. "I can't promise that you won't see him in your dreams. I can only promise to wake you from them when I can. Because once you're awake...he can't follow you."

Tears filled Arya's eyes and a few trickled down her cheeks. She had fought so hard to keep them back but they continuously betray her. "It's not fair, is it? They were so awful. The Mad King. Ramsay... They deserve to be forgotten entirely."

"They do," Jaime agreed.

"Yet here we are...still giving them life with our memories. And we're the ones who hate them most," Arya's drew in a shaky breath. "That's...not fair at all."

More tears were falling. One by one they escaped her, falling to the floor. Until Jaime raised his hand and brushed one away with his thumb.

"You can cry, Arya" he murmured. "It's all right. You can cry."

And she did. Suddenly, her tears went from streams to rivers. To a veritable flood. Every tear she had pushed down or held back started rushing out of her. Tears of pain. Tears of fear. Tears of grief. They broke from her and her whole body shuddered in their wake. She crumpled at the weight of them, and might have fallen to the floor had Jaime not pulled her into his arms.

It was not a gentle or tentative embrace-nothing like any of the hugs she had received from her family before she left. They had been afraid of breaking her. But Jaime held on tight, as if she might fall to pieces the moment he released her. She was grateful for that. She had been broken apart at her seams and she needed someone to keep her together while she mourned.

She mourned for her family and their many losses.

She mourned for the north, broken by a war.

She mourned for Talisa, who had died so cruelly.

She mourned for her children who would never know their mother and for Robb who barely had time to grieve her.

She mourned for the home she knew as a child, which was no longer safe. Which was tainted by some of the worst nights of her life.

And more than anything, she mourned for the girl she used to be-that fearless, strong child who had not yet been hollowed out by such fear and pain. Arya knew that even as she put distance between her and Ramsay Bolton and the Dreadfort and Winterfell and every memory that still haunted her, she would never return to that girl.

She was a memory now, and Arya grieved her loss.

"It's all right," Jaime kept murmuring close to her ear. "It will be all right."

"Don't...tell anyone about this..." Arya choked out.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jaime said, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You've certainly seen me in worse shape. After I lost my hand? Now that was something pathetic."

"This feels... pretty pathetic," Arya mumbled.

"It's not," Jaime said. "I promise."

Arya was not sure long she cried. She did not count the seconds. But soon it seemed she had cried every tear in her body and she was left red eyed and still. It felt good to release her hold on her emotions, though it was exhausting and more than a little embarrassing. But then, Jaime was not a gossip, nor would he ever mock her for this. She could trust him with her tears.

"I think you've been holding that back for some time," Jaime murmured.

"Yes," Arya agreed.

"Was that enough for now?"

"Yes. But don't...don't go yet."

"I won't," Jaime murmured. "Not until you command it, my lady."

* * *

After that night, Jaime did not push her any longer, but perhaps that was because Arya was no longer so guarded around him. She wasn't cured by her break down, but at least she was not constantly avoiding him and his questions. They talked more often on the road south, and sometimes she even spoke of what had happened to her at the Dreadfort.

She only spoke of it in short bursts, one small fact at a time. He never asked for more than she was willing to give. He listened and that was enough. Now Arya was not the only one who held knowledge of those memories. He knew as well. He knew how Ramsay used to sneak into her room while she slept and startled her awake. He knew how he would chase her about her small room with a knife and cut at her skin in an effort to make her howl. He knew how he would tell her lies about her family, or restrict her meals, or giggle whenever she snapped at him.

"Why do people like him always laugh?" Jaime asked. "You'd think, being so terrible, they would have the decency to be miserable with themselves."

"Ramsay didn't have decency. I don't even think he knew the meaning of the word." Arya poked at her food. "But he wasn't...mad. Most times he knew exactly what he was doing."

"I always wondered with the mad king," Jaime said. "I wondered how much of it was insanity or just...intentional cruelty."

"Which is worse?" Arya asked. "That they don't know how terrible they are or that they do and they don't care."

"I don't see a need to rank them," Jaime said. "Both are terrible."

Speaking her memories in the air made them less monstrous. Perhaps because Jaime didn't treat her as fragile because of them. He didn't coddle her or look at her like some broken thing. He spoke with her just the same as ever-sly remarks, crooked smiles, pointed questions. It was...nice. Familiar.

The nightmares did not stop. But there were less of them.

Arya's body had more time to heal on the road. The rocking of the cart was no longer such a trial, though she could not fight or ride. But she regained some of her appetite, and she slept a few hours more during the night. Small steps. One at a time.

Until at last, those small steps found them in the Crownlands, staring at the Red Keep far in the distance. How long it had been, and how much Arya had hated this place when she first arrived here.

She still did not like it much, and she was not fool enough to think of it as safe. There was a traitor somewhere in the south. Someone with aims against the north. She would have to discover the culprit soon before they tried anything again.

"It's been nearly a year," Jaime observed from his horse. "To think, we were only supposed to be gone for a few moons."

"We were supposed to marry as soon as we returned too," Arya said. "Perhaps this was all our way of delaying the match."

"We need to find better ways to put off the wedding," Jaime said. "Ones that involve less war and physical harm."

"Agreed," Arya said. "And if there is physical harm, it's your turn."

"Planning to push me down the stairs, Lady Arya?"

"Whatever you think will work best."

Jaime laughed once. "Well...mustn't keep father waiting anymore. He'll want to see you are safe." Then he urged his horse and the rest of his men forward.

Arya lifted her chin as they continued along the road, staring up at the Red Keep. She wondered, not for the first time, what new trial the great castle would place at her feet. Already she had faced Joffery, Littlefinger, Roose Bolton, Ramsay Bolton.

She wondered who would next earn a place on her list.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So, Arya has finally let out some pent up emotions with Jaime, which is a great step in the healing process. She's on the way uphill now, though certainly not cured. Because in Kallypso's fanfic, we deal with long term trauma *thumbs up*. Hope you all enjoyed. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	60. Chapter 60: A Shadow in the Gardens

_**A/N: I cut it close with this chapter. It's a pretty chill one over all. We are starting a new arc after all and that means some down time. None the less, Tywin is back, so enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 60: Shadows in the Gardens**

King's Landing had been suspiciously calm when Tywin returned. When he entered the red keep, he expected to see the finger prints of the so called 'southern traitor' everywhere he looked. After all, the northern rebellion had drawn Tywin away from the capitol. If the traitor meant to work any mischief, his absence would have provided the perfect opportunity.

But there was nothing visibly wrong. Kevan had been advising Tommen properly, and his grandson had carried himself well as king, alongside his queen Margaery Tyrell. The people of King's Landing seemed to favor them, especially because of the short winter. The common folk said the gods had blessed Tommen's reign with an early spring. Foolish as that prospect was, it did decrease the repugnant incestuous rumors about Jaime and Cersei. After all, would the gods bless the reign of a king born of such sin?

 _The gods do not bless or curse,_ Tywin thought. _They watch and do nothing and let the world run as it pleases._

Regardless, the southern traitor was clearly not trying to destabilize Tommen's reign. Rather, they were targeting Tywin, and though he had a rather long list of enemies, there were very few who would openly tangle with him.

He had considered the possibility that either Varys or Pycelle could be the traitor. After all, Littlefinger had proved treacherous. Why not the others on the small council? But Pycelle had always been particularly loyal to the Lannisters and had helped Tywin to overthrow the Targaryens. And Varys...he was too intelligent to place his hope in the Freys and the Boltons. If the spider wanted to move against Tywin, he would have picked a better horse.

Then there were the Tyrells. As the Lannister's principal rival in Westeros, it was not so strange to consider that they were trying to gain a tighter grip on the realm. Margaery Tyrell was queen, but Olenna Tyrell was not the type to settle for merely that. If the Tyrells wanted to expand their reach then Tywin was squarely in her way. Perhaps Lady Olenna had engineered this to make the Lannisters more reliant on the large and rested Tyrell armies. Or to get Tywin out of King's Landing for a time so that Margaery could dig her talons further into Tommen.

But that would be an extreme measure. Even if Olenna knew that Tywin favored Arya and guessed that he planned to match her to his son, he doubted she would target the Stark girl or the north. Still, he would not dismiss her as a possibility either.

The Brotherhood without Banners could have played a part, but they did not have the connections or the resources to truly help the Boltons in their foolish rebellion. So they were perhaps the most unlikely choice.

Then, the Dornish came to mind. They had refused to come to the royal wedding and had made no attempt to hide their hatred of Tywin ever since Robert's Rebellion. No one had more cause to hate him than the vipers of Dorne, and they were plotters by nature. They could have done this to provoke Tywin. But then again, would they have known to target Arya? Would they have known of the match between her and Jaime? That was unlikely. They also had no reason to target the north. The Starks had played no part in the deaths of their family. Ned Stark was the only one who had spoken against it.

No one quite seemed the perfect fit for the traitor, and the question of the culprit consumed Tywin's mind. Seven hells, he wished now more than ever that they were able to pull a name from one of the Boltons. It even crossed his mind that there _was_ no southern traitor. Roose Bolton could have offered a name only to try to make peace with Tywin. But maybe he had acted on his own, with the Freys, with no aid at all from the south. Perhaps his spies had discovered Arya's betrothal to Jaime.

There was no way to be sure. Tywin would have to set the spider to the task of rooting out the culprit before it drove him mad.

He was thinking of that very issue when Jaime arrived in his office, his clothing still flecked with mud from the road. That was a relief at least. One less problem to occupy his mind.

"So, you've returned," Tywin said. "I hope that Arya is with you and not missing again."

"Yes, father, she's here, as promised," Jaime said. "But there are quite a few stairs to your tower. Climbing all of them would hardly be good for her health."

Tywin nodded once, not allowing himself to look relieved at all. Finally, Arya was back in King's Landing where he could keep a closer eye on her. "How is her health?"

"Better," Jaime said. "She can stand and walk now without much trouble. Within another moon's turn, I believe she'll be back to normal. Physically at least."

"Physically," Tywin repeated.

Jaime looked away, his jaw tight. "She has...told me some of her trials when she was a captive. It will be some time before that bastard stops stalking her dreams."

Tywin's grip tightened on his quill and he tapped the dry tip irritably against the paper. Yes, he imagined that was the case. Ever since her rescue, Arya Stark had a new haunted look about her that she wore like a thin veil-barely visible but present.

"I have a request," Jaime said. "To postpone the wedding a bit longer. Just until she has more time to get her bearings. I can't imagine her being the center of attention right now. She might take out some poor nobleman's eye."

Tywin exhaled. "I already meant to postpone the wedding until Robb Stark regains a steady hold on the north. His presence is crucial to showing Westeros our new alliance. That will give her time enough to heal, don't you think?"

Jaime hesitated then nodded. "Yes...it should."

"Are you hoping to escape this match again?" Tywin asked.

"It isn't that. Though I'm sure Arya would be relieved if she could," Jaime said. "I was concerned for her. That's all."

Yes. Concerned. Jaime had been concerned about Arya for quite some time now. At one time or another, he had helped her out of obligation. Now there was something personal about it. Perhaps his son and ward both resented the idea of marriage but neither resented each other. Tywin would not have cared if they had, but he supposed it did help that their apparent friendship had warmed so much over the past few years.

"And the traitor?" Jaime asked at last. "Any ideas?"

Tywin shook his head, turning his gaze to the window. "No. Nothing certain anyway. Be on your guard. Tell Arya to do the same."

"I don't have to tell her," Jaime said with a wry smile. "She never takes her guard off."

* * *

It was warm and clear on the day that Arya returned to King's Landing, and she found herself wandering the gardens. If Bran was certain of a false spring, it did not show itself here. It was actually rather nice to feel the warmth of the sunlight, and after so many months of being locked in a single room, she preferred to be outdoors.

As she walked, she flipped her knife in hand. Grand Maester Pycelle had checked her wounds after she returned and recommended that she still not exert herself. But she could move her hands easily enough without causing any harm. So she twirled her knife between her fingers, trying to make up for all of the practice she had lost while she was captive.

It was comforting to have easy access to a blade again. At least if anyone attacked her, she would have a chance.

She rounded the corner and caught a flash of golden armor some distance away. Kingsguard. And with them, she recognized Tommen and Margaery, out for a stroll in the gardens. For a moment, Arya did not move, wondering if she should say hello. But then she stepped back, hoping to disappear into the shadows again. She was not sure she wanted to meet with them again when she was still recovering.

But before Arya could fully duck behind the hedges, Tommen turned and caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. A smile split his face. "Lady Arya!"

Arya stilled and swallowed hard. _Well, seven hells. I should have been quicker._ She forced a smile as he and Margaery approached, clasping her hands behind her back to hide her fingers and her knife. "My king. My queen. I...apologize for not already coming to find you."

"No need to apologize for that." Margaery rested a hand on her arm. "We are simply glad to see you well. We heard so many awful rumors when you were in the north. It was a relief to hear that you were alive."

"Yes," Arya said, heat rising to her cheeks at the idea of the court passing around rumors about her. She hated to think what those rumors might say. "I am alive."

"And King's Landing is welcoming you back," Margaery said. "Perhaps the gods created this beautiful day just for you."

"I rather doubt it, your grace," Arya said. "But I appreciate the sun none the less."

Margaery smiled. Arya never could tell what the woman really thought of her because she was so adept with her courtesies. "Well, you simply must join us for some tea. I know Tommen would be delighted to have you. Then perhaps you can set a few of these rumors straight for us."

Arya did not want to do that. She did not want to tell Margaery or sweet Tommen anything about what had happened to her. Neither one of them had faced much hardship in their lives. Neither one of them had really seen war. How could she bring herself to explain any of it?

And yet, she knew she could not refuse, and Tommen did look so pleased by the idea of her joining them. So she set her mouth in a smile and dipped into a sort curtsy.

"Of course. I would be delighted."

"There were rumors you lost all of your fingers," Margaery observed, pouring Arya some tea. "But I can see that is not true."

"No. I only lost two. It seems the rumors exaggerate," Arya said.

"Two is a lot, when it comes to fingers," Tommen said. He studied her mangled hand. "Does it...still hurt?"

"No, not anymore," Arya said. "This is one of my oldest wounds. It healed some time ago, and I am beginning to get used to it's new shape."

"If it would help, we could have some false fingers made for you," Tommen said. "Perhaps you could wear them like a glove. Uncle Jaime has a fake hand, why shouldn't you have fake fingers?"

"As long as they aren't golden, I wouldn't object," Arya said.

"No, not golden. Silver," Margaery said. "That would suit you well."

"Or simple metal. Steel perhaps," Arya said. "Something practical would suit me fine. But to be honest, I hadn't thought of getting new fingers. I use my left hand more than my right."

"That is lucky," Tommen said. "Are you still good with your knife?"

"Of course I am," Arya said. "And ready to protect you if ever you need my help again, your grace."

Tommen smiled. "Lately, I have not needed much protection. The people are in good spirits. Much better spirits than when Joffrey was king."

"Because Joffrey was a terrible king," Arya said. "Of course they are happier for you. You are a kind person."

Tommen flushed slightly and looked down at his lap. "Kind people do not always make good kings either."

"That sounds like something from your grandfather," Arya sighed. "I can almost hear it in his voice."

"It is," Tommen said. "I hear you two are speaking again. Did you resolve your conflict?"

Arya pulled at the fingers of her right hand. "Well, we both quietly agreed to forget that it happened."

Tommen raised an eyebrow. "And that counts as solving it?"

"Like you said. We're speaking," Arya said.

"That's good," Tommen said. "He was very worried about you. When he received the letter from the Boltons he was absolutely furious. He requested permission to leave the capitol but he would have gone if I said 'no' or not." Tommen shivered. "Not that I would ever tell him no."

"The Boltons and the Freys challenged him," Arya said. "He doesn't like being challenged."

"No. And he didn't like them threatening you either," Tommen said.

Arya nodded once, sipping her tea. It was a strange thing that Tywin did seem to genuinely favor her, even after their great argument. It was so strange that it had been easier for Arya to deny it. But how could she really do that after everything that had happened in the north?

"And how is your sister?" Margaery asked. "She may have mentioned her correspondence with my grandmother."

"She did," Arya said. "Your brother Willas...what is he like?"

"Oh, he's a wonderful older brother. Very kind and gentle," Margaery said. "He used to be quite good at riding before the accident. Now everything physical is a bit more difficult for him. But he's still as good as he was before it happened."

"That's good," Arya said. "If he is to marry my sister then-"

A shadow fell over Arya and a sudden burst of panic shot through her body. The teacup slipped from her fingers and she whipped around, drawing her knife in one smooth motion. But she found only a handmaid behind her, bringing more cakes. The young woman's eyes widened when Arya started and she backed away a few steps, curtsying in apology. "Forgive me, my lady."

"No," Arya said softly, relaxing her grip. "Forgive _me_."

Slowly she looked back at Tommen and Margaery, who were looking at her with the same surprised expression. Shame flushed through Arya's body and she stood abruptly.

"I...I'm feeling ill. I think I should return to my room. I'm sorry."

Then she started away before they could reply.

Arya really did feel sick as she walked away. For all of the time she had spent healing and coping with her terrible memoires, there was still so much weakness in her. She had flinched a simple shadow, and in front of Tommen and Margaery no less.

No. She wasn't going to accept this any longer. Perhaps she could not yet fight, but there were other ways that she could train. And she would train as much as she needed to feel strong again.

* * *

Arya forced herself up the steps to the tower of the hand. She stopped once near the top to catch her breath, but other than that, she felt no real pain at the walk. It gratified her to be able to do that much and she could not wait for the day when she would be able to run and fight again.

She stepped into the chamber of the hand and closed the door behind her. Lord Tywin was writing, like he often did, and it took him a moment to notice her. When he did, he carefully set down his quill.

"How did the stairs treat you?"

"They didn't kill me," Arya replied. "Soon I will be able to return to my practice with my swords."

"I'm sure you will," Tywin said. "But you clearly came with a purpose today."

Arya lifted her chin. She aware of doing it, but she didn't lower her head again. Just for today, she would allow herself the nervous tick. "You want me to marry Jaime...which means you want me as the Lady of Casterly Rock after you die. Correct?"

"Correct," Tywin said.

"Well I know little to nothing about the west or its lords or its people," Arya said. "I know the north like the back of my hand, and all its families and sigils. But the west is foreign to me. If I become its lady, I have little knowledge of how to rule it."

"Perhaps I am depending on Jaime to rule," Tywin said.

"Then you could have given him any wife," Arya said. "But you didn't. You chose me and you seem very set on that choice."

"I don't make a habit of changing by decisions," Tywin said. "Why this sudden desire to learn?"

Arya's jaw clenched. "I...When I was a prisoner..." She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. "When I was a prisoner I realized that my power has always rested on the power of other people. When my father was alive, people treated me well because I was a Stark of Winterfell. And after I became your ward, people mostly let me alone because they did not want to insult you. When I met with someone who didn't care about that...my strength failed and I couldn't do anything. Because the Boltons didn't fear me. Just you." She clenched her fists. "I'm not willing to rest on that anymore. If people respect me or fear me...I want it to be because of my name and my abilities alone. Not because of my father. Not because of Jaime. Not because of you. I need to find my own power."

Tywin was silent for a long while as he considered this. He tapped one long finger absently against the desk and Arya felt her nerves rise in the silence. Why was he so damn fond of silences?

"I always intended to teach you," Tywin said. "But it happens that soon after I engaged you to my son, you came to my office to shout at me and then did not return for the better part of a year."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "You were ignoring me too."

"I didn't say I wasn't," Tywin said. "Fortunately, that...disagreement is behind us." He steepled his fingers. "I have many other responsibilities as hand of the king and they occupy most of my day, but in the free hours...I will teach you what you need to know."

Arya exhaled. Good. This was exactly the sort of distraction that she needed until she was well enough to fight. "Thank you, my lord." She shifted from foot to foot. "Can we start now?"

A shadow of a smile passed over his face and he nodded at the bookshelf. "Fetch the book with the golden spine on the middle shelf. It contains a detailed history of the Westerlands. That's where you start."

Arya nodded and hurried to fetch the book. Then she settled herself in the corner of his office and began reading.

So long as she was forced into this position, she would train to do it well. And she would train to one day surpass even Tywin Lannister. Right now, people did not harm her because they feared him. But she wanted people to fear her for her name and her name alone.

It was time to find power of her own.

* * *

Cersei was furious by the Bolton's failure. Whether or not they won their little rebellion was of no consequence to her. But they could have, at the very least, made Arya Stark useless to her father. They could have married her to a Frey or a Bolton. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she couldn't marry Jaime. They could have killed her, and Cersei would not have cried a tear.

But Arya Stark lived on, unmarried, injured but recovering. The only bright spot in all of this was that the Boltons had not given up Cersei's name. According to her sources, Roose Bolton had only told her father that there was a traitor in the south. She did not like him having even that much information, but there were plenty of snakes in the capitol.

Still, even that small bit of knowledge meant that she had to keep quiet for a while. If she acted so soon after the Bolton's failure, she would become a suspect. It was better that her family forget she exist for a while as they scrambled to find the traitor. Perhaps another unfortunate fellow would be blamed.

Her father wouldn't suspect her easily. He had a blind spot when it came to his children. He didn't understand a single one of them, but he also didn't want to believe them capable of moving against him. That was the only reason he had never discovered her affair with Jaime. Willful ignorance. She could count on that to protect her here if she did not do anything stupid. She merely had to save her other plans for the right moment.

And when the time came, she would pluck the Stark weed out of her family. Then everything would be as it should again.

* * *

 _ **A/N: A little hint of Cersei's thoughts! And she is right that Tywin is often willfully blind when it comes to his children. Even though she might seem like the obvious choice, he would never want to believe that she would so actively oppose him. We'll see when the truth comes to life. Until then, review, subscribe etc and I'll see you next time!**_


	61. Chapter 61: Strategic Value

_**A/N: This chapter is 100% Tywin and Arya, and I loved writing it very, very much :) I mean obviously, they are the reason I started writing this fic so...enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 61: Strategic Value**

Arya had only a basic knowledge of the Westerlands from her schooling. Maester Luwin had always made them memorize the major families of Westeros, along with their words and deeds. But Arya did not know their history, nor did she know more than a few of the other lords in the area. The lords she did know were those who had say on Tywin's war council when she was his cupbearer.

Her father always insisted that if a man was to rule their people, they must _know_ their people, and Arya was determined to do the same. So she faithfully read every book Tywin gave her and memorized the names as best she could. Then at night, when he had completed his important tasks for the day, he would test her knowledge."

"House Serret of Silverhill has a peacock for a sigil. They are in control of several silver mines. And there words..." Arya thought for a long moment, looking up at the ceiling. So many words, they began to swim together in her head. "Wait, I remember...they're something arrogant."

"Yes, they are," Tywin said.

"Oh." Arya snapped her fingers. "'I have no equal'. That's it."

"'I have no rival'," Tywin corrected her.

Arya crossed her arms. "That's practically the same thing."

"Tell that Lord Serret and see how he takes it. He's as proud as his words suggest," Tywin said. "What of House Westerling?"

"Six white seashells against sand. They're from the Crag. Their words are honor not honors," Arya said. "I remembered those because I don't know what it means. What does it mean?"

Tywin stacked a series of letters together on his desk. He was always organizing and reorganizing his belongings, never tolerating any disorder at all. "I'm not familiar with the exact origin, but I believe it means that one's personal honor is more important than receiving honor or glory from others."

"That sounds like a northern notion," Arya said.

"You are aware that the northern families aren't the only ones that value honor, aren't you?" Tywin raised an eyebrow. "In fact, I'm quite certain that more than one northern family proved themselves dishonorable recently."

Arya frowned. "Yes, yes, I know. Give me another house."

"You haven't said what the Westerlings trade in yet," Tywin said.

Arya's brow knit together. "Ah...fish? Because of the...seashells?"

"You're guessing," Tywin said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, I'm guessing. Am I wrong?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "They deal in some fish but they used to be in charge of a great many mines. Unfortunately for them some of their mines have dried up and others have been sold away. They've lost a great deal of their power over time and can barely maintain the Crag. They rest on their name now. It's all they have left."

"I suppose I shouldn't tell them that to their face," Arya said dryly.

"No. There's a long history of goodwill between the Lannisters and the Westerlings. It would be foolish to spoil it, even if they are in decline." Tywin finished with his papers and leaned forward. "You seem to know the names and words well enough. But I have a better question for you. Which of our allies are most valuable to us?"

Arya's brow furrowed. "Most...valuable?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "Imagine that two forces attack the Westerlands at the same time. One attacks the Westerlings and one attacks the Serrets. They both request aid, but you only have enough soldiers to send help to one place. They are of equal distance from you so that is not a deciding factor. Only the worth of the family. Who would you choose?"

"The Serrets. Because they have the working mines," Arya said. "The Westerlings can fight for the Crag but if it's dried up, like you say, it's better to have them flee than stand and fight. But if the Serrets were defeated, the enemy would gain the mines. Right...?"

"Correct," Tywin said. "You would have to make a show of sending some aid to the Westerlings, but only minimal soldiers. The Serrets land is more important, and they have more to offer house Lannister. You save them." He tapped one finger against the table. "Another scenario. One group attacks the Farmans of Fair Isle and the other attacks House Swyft of Cornfield. To whom do you give aid?"

"House Farman," Arya said. "Because of their important position on the coast. Not to mention they have the strongest navy in your army."

"They do," Tywin said. "And that's exactly why you are wrong. Anyone who attacked them would do so from the coast and they are well fortified to withstand an attack of that kind. Even if they weren't, their ships could turn most enemies back. We could send a few ships, but in all likelihood, they would be able to handle the situation themselves. House Swyft, on the other hand, is in charge of the majority of our crop production and is in a much less defensible position. Any enemy attacking would undoubtedly go after the fields, if they were smart. It could devastate the Westerlands and make us more reliant on the Reach for food imports. And you must never let the Westerlands become _reliant_ on anyone."

He had a good point. Arya had read quite a bit about the economic exports of the West. Mining was their chief trade, and they had only limited farmable land. Much of the landscape was mountainous and rocky, not nearly as fertile as the reach. That made the farmable land they _did_ have all the more valuable. But Arya wasn't so willing to concede. Not yet. "But if the Farman's request aid _despite_ their great navy then that must mean that they are dealing with an especially dangerous force. One that could devastate the Westerlands if the succeeded."

Tywin seemed almost amused by her defending her position. "True enough. But even if the force was large, the Farman's are competent enough to hold them back for a time. Harys Swyft is not all together bright or competent. He would need more help."

Arya's jaw clenched. "In this theoretical scenario, do these two attacks come from the same source?"

Tywin tilted his head to the side. "Let's pretend that they do."

"Then a smart lord would have sent the larger force to the Farman's since they are a greater threat. Better we send a small party to help the Swyfts and send the majority of our forces to help the Farman's to deal with the greater army."

"If the lord is smart, you'd be playing into their hands," Tywin said. "They'd hope to draw your attention with a high profile attack on the Fair Isle while they send a small group to cut across our best farmland. Then they can make an easy retreat before we can surround them. Or they could do what your brother did. Send a small force against Fair Isle as a distraction while the largest force decimates their real target."

Arya exhaled, finally willing to concede defeat. She could not think of a rebuttal to that. But Tywin Lannister really was impossible to argue with. "All right...the Swyfts then."

Tywin's mouth twitched. "You made good points, but don't expect to be a master military commander just yet. You've had one battle plan play out successfully and it was one that relied a great deal on your enemies making mistakes. You have much more to learn."

Arya flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes, still very annoyed. "What are the odds of those scenarios actually playing out?"

"Low," Tywin said. "Especially so soon after a large war. No one will be eager to tangle with us any time soon. But knowing our most important allies serves other purposes. You must know who you can rely on in war but also in peace. You must know who you want most loyal to you and who you can afford to slight without any worry. Most of ruling is not war. Don't let the past few years fool you. They have been abnormal ones."

Arya nodded once. She understood the necessity of it, she supposed. But she hated failing Lord Tywin's tests. It motivated her to work harder than ever.

She read the history of the family as much as she read about the current houses. After all, it was important to know the roots of the house she would soon join. She read about the legendary Lann the clever, who stole Casterly Rock out from under House Casterly. There were many versions of the tail, each more ridiculous than the last. In some versions, snuck inside of the castle and spent the nights howling and running about, convincing the lords that the castle was haunted. In others, he infested the castle with rats and chased out the Casterlys. One tale even claimed that he had snuck a pride of lions into the castle to devour Lord Casterly alive. There were doubts about Lann's existence of course. He seemed more a figment of some storyteller's imagination. But there was no other written origin of the Lannister family, so Arya supposed he would do.

She read about the kings of the west, all the way to Lorren Lannister, who knelt to the Targaryens on the Field of Fire. Lorren had survived the day to pen more than one gruesome account of that fateful day. His description of his men burning alive was rather haunting to behold. Arya had always loved reading about the Targaryen conquerors, but she could not imagine facing them or their dragons in combat. Swords meant nothing when dragons flew overhead.

After Aegon's conquest, Lannisters became lords instead of kings, participating in every major event of the Targaryen dynasty. They were hands, advisors, knights, allies, enemies and everything in between. And they endured as so many great families fell into nothing. Reading about the rise and fall of families helped Arya to understand Tywin Lannister's obsession with his legacy. A great line could end at any time. Even the dragons themselves had fallen.

And then there were the records of Robert's rebellion and the events that led to it. For the very first time, Arya actually read about her long time captor's life. She knew some of the stories about him. Everyone did. But she never really understood why everyone feared him so completely. She understood after she read the story of the Reynes of Castamere.

The Reynes and Tarbecks had refused to repay the Lannisters the gold they owed, not believing that Tytos, Tywin's father, was strong willed enough to fight for it. Tywin responded by raising an army and marching on Tarbeck hall. Once he had crushed the Tarbecks, he turned his armies on Castamere. The Reynes could not match him in the field so they retreated within and hid in the mines, which were defensible and well stocked with enough food to last everyone quite a long time. Tywin responded by diverting all of the nearby water sources so that they flowed into this supposed sanctuary. Everyone within drowned to death. Old and young. Men and women. Lords, ladies and smallfolk. He killed every one of them.

On the surface it was a brilliant plan and Arya understood why it had earned Lord Tywin a song. She understood why once, when another lord would not pay him, he had only send a musician to that lord's court to play the song, and the lord at once gave up the desired gold. Tywin had earned respect and fear because he showed how far he was willing to go for his family.

But Arya could not imagine killing that many. She had her list of course. She had always had her list. But she wouldn't kill smallfolk if it meant eliminating those names, would she? If it had meant killing Ramsay Bolton, would she have killed children? She wasn't sure. She hoped she wouldn't but...

"Something is troubling you," Tywin said flatly.

Arya blinked rapidly and looked up at him. He was reading over a letter, the usual disinterested expression on his face. "I...what?"

"You've been staring at that wall there for some time. It didn't strike me as productive," he replied, glancing briefly up from the words.

"I...read the full story about the Reynes of Castamere," Arya said.

"Did you?" Tywin did not seem particularly concerned. "And what was your assessment?"

"I wondered if...the situation needed that much force," she said. "Killing everyone in the keep. Drowning them like rats or burning them alive in their own halls. Do you think that was necessary?"

Tywin set down his letter. "The destruction of the Reynes and Tarbecks was necessary, yes. They had made a sport of insulting my father and the Lannister name. The family was in danger of becoming a joke and the Westerlands needed a stern reminder that we were to be feared. They got one. None of my bannermen have betrayed me or even thought to betray me since."

"And did everyone in the keep need to die for that? Even people who had nothing to do with the insults?" Arya asked.

"Perhaps not," Tywin said. "I won't argue the necessity of killing every maid and kitchen boy. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it was the most effective way to end them without a long drawn out siege. Then we could deal with the Tarbecks. I could have handled it more peacefully, or I could have killed the guilty and the guilty alone. And perhaps that would have been enough. But I was not willing to take the risk." He turned his gaze to the window. "It doesn't particularly matter anymore. It happened and it's done with. It had the intended effect. Sometimes it takes severe action to gain people's respect."

"Will I have to do something so severe?" Arya asked. "If I want to be feared and respected, will I have to drown out a castle?"

Tywin paused for a moment before responding. "No. Likely not. The Lannisters were a joke when I turned old enough to do something about it. The Lannisters are not a joke now. But in the future, when I die, someone will undoubtedly try to test Jaime to see if he can truly fill my shoes. They will test you as well. And when they do, you must respond in kind. Show them that even though I am dead, you will not accept anything less than the same respect."

Arya nodded once. "I can manage that."

Tywin inclined his head. "I have no doubt you can."

* * *

Arya's studies continued with regularity. They helped her avoid sleep when she feared nightmares, and they helped her avoid thinking too much about the past. She had a new goal now, and she was working steadily toward it as her body continued to heal. As a result, she spent an awful lot of time in the Tower of the Hand.

One night, when the words of Arya's book were starting to blur together, but she still did not feel like braving sleep, Arya's eyes focused on the broken king sat on the edge of Tywin's desk. It still amazed her that he had kept it on his desk, especially when he was an organized man who kept everything in their proper place. She rose and wandered over to the desk, picking it up and examining the crack in its crown.

"Did you wish to take it back?" Tywin asked. He was reading through some book when she looked up at him. He did that a lot: asked a question and pretended he wasn't actually interested in the answer.

"No. I did think it was a shame it wasn't being used for its purpose though," Arya said. "It's been some time since I've played Cyvasse."

"You mentioned that game before," Tywin said.

"Yes," Arya looked up at him. "You may as well learn to play if you plan to keep the broken king."

"I don't have time for games and neither do you," Tywin said.

"It's a game of strategy. It's perfectly relevant to what I'm learning right now," Arya protested. "You tested me with the problem of the Farman's and the Swyfts. In this game you strategically decide which pieces to sacrifice in order to achieve victory. Except no one dies. They just win and lose."

"And?"

"And it's better to practice strategy with lower stakes to avoid making mistakes in the future," she said.

Tywin glanced up at her. "You seem determined for me to play this game."

"I am," Arya said. "I would like to teach _you_ something for once."

He seemed to consider the idea for a long moment. Then he exhaled and turned back to his work. "If you can fetch the game and return here before I'm done with this task then you'll have your game."

Arya grinned and went at once for the room, hurrying toward her room. She wasn't sure if Tywin intended for her to run all the way there and back, but it was good exercise, and her body was very nearly healed. She was amazed enough that he had given her any sort of 'yes'. But then, occasionally, Arya was good at getting her way from Tywin Lannister, and she took the small victories when she could.

When she returned to the tower of the hand, slightly out of breath, Tywin was still at his desk. He set down his work. "You have good timing. I just finished."

"Excellent," Arya said.

She proceeded to set up the board and explain to him the value of the pieces exactly how Tyrion had taught her, as well as the goal of the game: to kill the enemy's king. She told him how pieces could move as well, but she refused to give him any more than that. He would have to figure out the best strategy himself. Tyrion had taught her the same way.

Every player was different. Some played offense and others played defense. And some were able to mix both. It did not surprise Arya that Tywin was the third kind. He was a keen strategist after all. But he did have one blind spot which she had suspected before they even started playing the game. He ignored the small pieces.

'The rabble' pieces were nothing more than pawns in a grander scheme. They were not powerful and often it was easier to sacrifice them earlier. But they could also slip through the opponent's defenses and be instrumental in the final victory. Tyrion was fond of using this strategy, so Arya could never really get her rabble pieces past his lines, and he had beaten her more than once by carefully positioning his rabble where he needed them. Arya played the same kind of game with Lord Tywin now, until she knew she had set a proper trap for him.

After several minutes, Arya found herself victorious. The rush of beating Tywin was far greater than that of beating Tyrion somehow. Tywin who always had to have the last word and always won. For once, she could be better than him at something.

She tried not to look too smug as she sat back in her chair. "That's my win."

Tywin glared at the board for a long moment, as if trying to find exactly where he had made a misstep. "How, exactly?"

"Because," Arya said. "My dragon has your king cornered but he can't move this way because of my spearmen. And if he moves this way he runs into my rabble." She smiled. "You don't want to underestimate the rabble."

He glanced up at her. "You're enjoying this."

"I am, thank you for noticing," Arya said.

"Reset the board then," Tywin said. "If you enjoy winning this foolish game so much."

Arya wasn't sure why, but the expression on his face made her laugh-really laugh. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed. Surely before the business with the Boltons. But it felt good to do it again.

For a moment, Tywin seemed caught off guard by the sound, as if he had never expected to hear it from her. Arya quieted herself and apologized.

"I'm sorry. I just...you really don't like losing, do you?"

"I don't," Tywin said. "And I won't again, I assure you, Lady Arya."

Arya was still smiling as she reset the board. "We'll see."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Next time we'll get back to Arya fighting. And I might be a LITTLE BIT self indulgent with something I do next chapter. Like...it might be a bit contrived, but I'm writing fanfiction and self indulgence is the name of the game. i haven't decided on it yet though lol. Just let me know if you guys are willing to indulge me a small contrivance. In the meantime, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	62. Chapter 62: Teacher

_**A/N: Well, all of you were pretty supportive of me getting contrived so...welcome to the contrivance chapter. It's probably not what you think! Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 62: Teacher**

After what seemed like an eternity back in King's Landing, Arya finally got what she wanted from the Maester when she went to have him see to her injuries.

"Your wounds are much improved," Maester Pycelle said. "They've left scars behind, but beneath them, they are healed."

Arya shifted restlessly. It had been over a moon's turn since she had returned to King's Landing and her seventeenth name day had passed. She was tired of being idle and she longed to practice again. Her left palm itched with the desire to hold Needle and Winter's Fury. "So...can I exert myself without any worry?"

"I don't see why you would need to exert yourself at all," Pycelle said, rearranging some of the jars on his desk with gnarled fingers. "You are back in the safety of the Red Keep now."

Arya's eyes narrowed. It was impossible that old man _hadn't_ heard rumors of her practicing sword play. But she humored him. "I meant for riding a horse. I do like to ride very much. Would galloping upset my wounds at all?"

"Oh, no," Pycelle said. "I don't believe it will. Riding is perfectly safe. But if you tire or notice any pain, you must stop at once."

Arya nodded once, already backing out of the room. Riding was okay...that meant fighting was okay as well. She felt her heart lift at the thought. "Thank you Grand Maester. I just remembered that I have to be somewhere in a hurry. Goodbye."

She was scarcely out of his sight before she turned and started running for her room. The running was freeing too. The impact no longer rattled broken bones and her breath no longer felt like a knife through her torso. And after several moons of barely moving, she felt as if she could fly.

She retrieved needle and Winter's fury from her room and made for her usual practice area at once. It was a relief to climb the stairs and step onto the familiar stone. Sun was streaming through the windows of the balcony and it smelled as she remembered.

Even when her world was threatening to fall apart, this place was always consistent. An escape from the political viper's nest of the capital. A place where she could be herself.

She set Winter's Fury aside for now. Needle was an easier sword to wield after so many months away from her practice, and the fluid nature of water dancing would be kinder to her body. Then, Arya took her place at the center of the room, needle in hand.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began.

Her movements were sloppy when she started and her steps unsure. But as the afternoon wore on, she fell back into her muscle memory. It was like dusting off a room left abandoned. Messy at first...but still as it was.

She reviewed foot work. She reviewed simple stabs and strikes. She worked meticulously through the basics, noting the places where her body was still weak. She was so enveloped in her work that she did not hear anyone approach until a late afternoon shadow crossed the floor.

She spun around, raising her sword and Jaime caught the blade with the flat of his own sword. A wry grin crossed his face.

"You've returned, my lady."

Arya relaxed. "Yes. Maester Pycelle said I was well enough."

"Well enough to fight?"

"Well enough to _ride_. That's close enough."

Jaime chuckled, stepping back from her and turning his sword in his hand. "I'm glad. I fear I've gotten rusty myself. No one else is as hard on me as you."

Arya straightened. "Well, I'm back now."

"That you are," Jaime said. "Shall we spar then, Lady Arya?"

A warm sort of happiness spread through Arya. She had missed this more than she even realized. She smiled. "Yes, ser Jaime. We shall."

* * *

Over the next several days, Arya spent nearly all of her time split between the Tower of the Hand and her practice room. If she was not sharpening her sword skills then she was sharpening her mind. There was no time to waste, after all. She needed to get back to how she was before. Better even. She needed to improve far beyond her old self. So she practiced with Winter's Fury, she practiced with Needle, she practiced with her throwing knife, she practiced with books and with Cyvasse.

Between her studies, she was busy identifying her weaknesses. Where did she need the most improvement? The answer came to her one day as she was practicing her forms with needle. She noted that her water dancing had gotten rather sloppy. Years of practicing on her own had earned her some bad habits, and Syrio hadn't come close to teaching her everything she needed to know. She had Jaime of course, but he was more an expert at the fighting style of the Westerosi knight, and his missing hand made him less adept at that now.

Arya would never be able to master the knight's style completely because of her small stature. She could not beat most of her opponents in a contest of strength. Water dancing had always been ideal because it trained the user to be quick and agile instead of merely strong-observant and smart rather than forceful.

She had learned that her strength only went so far when she faced Ramsay Bolton. He was more than once able to easily pin her against the wall or the floor. She needed to be quick enough to not get caught, even in small spaces.

"I have...a question," Arya said one late afternoon after she and Jaime finished practicing. She was still turning her sword in hand while Jaime sat and took a break on the nearby crates.

He sipped water from his canteen. "I suppose you better ask it then."

"If I were to ask for a teacher...someone to teach me how to fight better...would your father say yes?"

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Oh, am I not good enough for you?"

"I thought _I_ was the teacher between us," Arya retorted.

Jaime laughed once. "You have more fingers than I am. That doesn't make you a teacher."

"No, it _surely_ does."

Jaime shook his head. "What brought this on so suddenly?"

"It's not suddenly. It's just that...well I want to return to learning water dancing. I think it will be more useful to me in the long run, especially since I don't think I'm going to grow anymore," Arya gestured to her smaller frame. "I used to have Syrio. He was an excellent teacher. But since that, I haven't had any real, formal training. I've gotten...messy."

"You're also out of practice from the imprisonment and severe injury," Jaime pointed out.

"Then I need to get back _in_ practice, and a teacher can help," Arya said.

Jaime considered the idea for a moment. "Well...I don't really see why you need to ask my father about it. He lets you have a sword. Why should he object to someone teaching you how to use one better?" He sheathed his sword. "Let me handle it. I'll see if there are any Bravosi swordsmen in the area."

"Water dancers," Arya said. "Good ones."

Jaime smirked. "And here I was going to find you an absolutely _terrible_ swordsman. Thank you for clarifying."

She smacked him in the arm.

For a few days, Arya did not hear from Jaime, which did not really concern her. Even without her sparring partner, she could practice her skills, and of course, she still had much more to read and study. Tywin had reminded her on multiple occasions to not get too caught up in swinging a sword and neglect her other studies and she was determined to prove to him that she could do both at the same time.

Then, one morning, Jaime met her in the hallway as she was on the way to her practice room. He was grinning knowingly. "On your way to swing at an invisible opponent?"

"I could swing at you as well if you're feeling daring," Arya said.

"No, no," Jaime said. "I'm occupied at the moment. But I found you someone else to swing at."

For a moment Arya, didn't process the words. Then her eyes widened. "A teacher?"

"Yes. He's waiting for you there."

A smile split Arya's face. "You actually...Jaime, thank you." She hugged him before she even thought about it. Then she turned and hurried off down the hall, leaving him alone. A teacher. He had actually found her a water dancing teacher.

Years ago, training with Syrio had been the best part of her stay in King's Landing. She hadn't liked it much compared to the north, and she felt so out of place. But when she was with Syrio, she thought she was doing what she ought to do. He gave strange lessons. Chasing cats, balancing at the top of the stairs, swinging at him with her eyes closed. But they had all been meant to improve her reflexes, her patience and her power of observation. Even many years later, she could see the value of the lessons that had seemed strange at the time.

She doubted she would ever find a water dancing teacher quite as good as him. But at least she could have one to help her pick up where she left off.

When Arya arrived at her practice room, she did not see anyone immediately. She crept carefully into the room, looking around to see if he might be hiding behind one of the pillars of the balcony.

"You are late, girl."

Arya's heart stuttered at the familiarity of the voice. It pulsed with pain and hope all at once. Very slowly, she turned to see him standing in the corner, two wooden swords in his hand. He was missing an eye, and a nasty scar cut from his brow to his jawline. But she recognized him just as she recognized his voice.

"Syrio?"

It couldn't be. She must be dreaming or her eyes were deceiving her. Perhaps this man only looked very much like him. But no. Him...it was him. And he was...

The Bravosi grinned. "Arya, child...not such a child anymore though. A woman grown."

"You were..." Arya's throat was thick with emotion. "You were dead."

"Was I? And when did this happen?" Syrio asked.

"Merryn Trant...he killed you." She had seen him break his stick in half. How could Syrio have fought then?

"Evidentially not. I am here, walking and talking to you," Syrio circled the room. "How could you possibly know if I died? You scurried away before you could see what happened. Were you so confident that I had been bested?"

Arya wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or laugh. She had no idea how to feel at all. "No but...so many others had...I assumed..."

"Never assume," Syrio said. "Fools assume and die for their trouble." He shook his head. "No...I did not die. When Arya Stark fled I had only a broken sword. I danced between their blades until I was sure you were gone. Then I led them in the opposite direction. They did not even think to look for you instead. Not with death on their minds. I sent two of them to meet death...though I earned this for my trouble." He tapped his scar.

"And you...you escaped?" Arya asked. "I thought the first sword of Bravos does not run."

"He does when he must," Syrio said. "What must we always say to the god of death?"

Arya let out a shaky breath. "Not today."

"Yes," Syrio said. "How many times have you told him that, child?"

"I've lost count," Arya said. And she had. So many times she had faced the possibility of her own death. When she first escaped the red keep. In the pins of Harrenhal. Against King's Guard and assassins alike. Against the Boltons. Against _Ramsay_.

And here she was at the end of all that, still standing. So was Syrio. Against all odds, he had survived too. She was only just letting herself believe it.

"Good," Syrio said. He threw one of the wooden swords at her and she caught it easily. He dipped into a stance, turning his wooden stick in his hand. "And you will say it again. Now. Let's see how well you have retained my lessons."

Arya exhaled, relaxing her grip on the stick, making it as graceful as Sansa held her sewing needle. Then she settled into the stance of a water dancer.

For just a moment, it felt like the old days, and that feeling was impossibly sweet.

* * *

Arya was right about bad habits. In the first few minutes of her lesson with Syrio, he noted several mistakes in her posture, her form and her movements. But chief among them was the tension.

"Every part of you is tense," he said. "Jaw, torso, leg. Your grip begins light and delicate but clamps down like a wolf's jaws as soon as you go to swing."

"It's hard to stay relaxed when you're fighting someone for real," Arya said.

"Yes. But it is necessary," Syrio said. "You fight aggressively. Fiercely. There is no patience in your movements. I can see it in your eyes. _Win,_ they shout. _I must win. I must win right now or I will die._ " He clicked his tongue and wagged his finger. "Patience is what you need."

"But if I'm too patient then I will give death an opening," Arya retorted.

"One can be patient but guarded at the same time. Even if one waits, they need not open themselves up to death. No...the waiting, sometimes, is what keeps death out." Syrio paced around her. "When you wait, you have time to see. And when you see, truly see, you understand your opponent. Then, no matter how they strike at you, their sword will not find you."

Arya _had_ gained a habit of striking first. She knew that. When she saw an opponent that could killed her, she sometimes lunged at them without looking at all. It had kept her alive in desperate situations. But in an ordinary fight, she knew that Syrio was right. She needed to be patient and watch. If she lunged blindly before she knew how her enemy moved, it could be the death of her.

In between practicing, she asked him as many questions as she could. Where did he go after he left the Red Keep? Where had he been since then? What brought him back to King's Landing? How did he find her?

Syrio answered her questions patiently, though not with many details.

"I went many places, all away from the shadow of the Red keep where some angry knight might recognize me."

"I returned when I discovered all those I fought were dead, and no longer a threat to me. Work is better in King's Landing."

"A one handed knight had asked for a Bravosi to teach a lady. I wondered if that young lady might be Arya Stark and here she is."

It was all coincidence really-chance that brought them back together. But Arya was not in the habit of arguing with happy coincidences. She was so deeply glad to see Syrio that it lifted her heart every time she found him for practice.

"Did you know?" Arya asked Jaime. "That he was my old water dancing teacher?"

"I never met the man, but you had mentioned his name," Jaime said. "I thought it might be him, unless Syrio is a common name in Bravos. But then again...how many first swords named Syrio could there be?" He shrugged. "I thought you would be glad to have a teacher regardless."

"You were right," Arya said. "It is good to have him back. I'm not practicing blind for once."

When Arya was not training with Syrio, she was practicing with Jaime and testing some of her new lessons on him. And when she was not with him, she was in Tywin's office. If she had any extra time, she practiced working a bow with her mangled hand. It was a good way to increase the strength of her three fingers, and she knew that long ranged weapons should not be neglected. It had been too long since she had used a bow and she was lousy at it. All the more reason to practice. All the more reason to get better.

Only rarely was she in her room alone. She only returned when she was exhausted from the day and sure to fall right to sleep. In deep sleep, she could stave off the dreams.

Her strength was returning to her, bit by bit. She felt strong and focused, and with that strength came more of the patience that Syrio demanded. She felt calmer when she fought with him, swift and powerful as a rushing river. Despite her faults, she had come a long way from the bony girl who first learned water dancing all of those years ago.

With the arrival of spring, Arya knew that other things were on the horizon. Her wedding to Jaime would not be delayed forever. By now, Robb had largely managed to pick up the pieces of the north and put them back together, and Arya was fully healed from her ordeal. Those were both things that had persuaded Lord Tywin to push back the occasion. But soon...

Soon she would be wed.

It was a frightening sort of feeling for her. Not because she feared Jaime. But she did fear the change. She feared the idea of so many people watching her, looking to her to be a proper lady. She wished they could skip the ceremony and be done with it, but that was not possible.

She was thinking of her impending wedding when Syrio wacked her on the arm with a stick. "You are with your trouble again," he said. "What troubles you today?"

Arya bit her lip. "It...It doesn't matter."

"It does if it distracts you from our lessons," Syrio said.

Arya shifted from foot to foot. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to talk to him. "It won't be long before I am...married." The word was strange to say out loud. "Lately, I can't get the idea out of my head. It keeps coming to me at the strangest moments."

"Anticipating the future," Syrio said. "You either anticipate or you dwell in the past. Both can be the death of you. The present is where fighting happens. It's where breathing happens too."

"I know," Arya said. "But I can't think about the present all the time. I'm not just going to be a fighter; I'm going to be in charge of a great house. I _have_ to think of the future-of every possible future-when I step into that role."

Syrio nodded once, acknowledging the point. "That is true. Rulers must think of many futures. But what good does it do you to think of a future that will not change? To fear the unknown when you are already falling into it. That doesn't do much good at all."

Arya didn't reply. She flexed the three fingers of her right hand.

"What do you fear, girl?" Syrio asked. "Does your intended frighten you?"

"No," Arya said. "He doesn't."

"Your new role then. The role of a lady, in charge of a great Westerosi house."

"No...well, it makes me a bit nervous but...I think I am prepared for it. And I have many more years to prepare for it before Lord Tywin dies," Arya said. "It's...It's the change I think. Everything will be different. Even my name."

She was afraid to lose her name, she realized. To go from Stark to Lannister. The idea made her feel a bit sick every time she thought about it.

Syrio considered this for a long moment, circling her. "Ah...a changing name. Tell me, girl. What is a name?"

It was a strange question but Arya tried to answer it none the less. "It's what people call you. It's who you are."

"Those are two very different things," Syrio said. "What people call you? Who you are? Why should you be everything that people call you? If a man called you a mouse that would not make you one, would it?"

"Well, no but..."

"If you call a wolf a lion, does it cease to be a wolf?"

Arya bit at her lip. "No."

"No," Syrio said. "You care for your name and your family. That is right. You fear losing them both. But Stark is who you are, not what people call you," He slipped a finger under her chin and lifted it. "If they call you Lannister or not...it does not change the wolf inside."

Arya's mouth twitched into a small smile. No, it didn't. She would always be a wolf and a Stark, no matter what anyone called her. And since when had she cared what other people thought?

After all of her lessons with Tywin, she had feared she might be turning into someone unrecognizable from herself. She feared he might be turning her into more of a Lannister than a Stark. But even though he could teach her and marry her off to his son, he had no power over her true identity.

 _I am a wolf,_ Arya thought. _Even surrounded by lions, I am still a wolf._

* * *

 _ **A/N: It's Syyyyrio! Yeah, I wanted Arya to get a teacher to improve her water dancing and I had the thought of 'we never saw a body' and I remembered that I refuse to acknowledge the possibility Syrio might have died so... Here he is. Also, Arya deserves some small happiness. I hope you enjoyed!**_

 _ **Next time we will get some more of Cersei so you can look forward to that (or not). We're not kicking the plot into high gear yet, but imma be diving into her mind, that's for sure. In the meantime, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	63. Chapter 63: The Future and the Past

_**A/N: Well good news about this chapter: It has Arya and Tywin, Arya and Jaime and some fun Cersei psychoanalysis. All the best things in life! Hope you guys enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!**_

 **Chapter 63: The Future and the Past**

Less than a moon's turn after Syrio returned as Arya's teacher, the Maesters of Old Town declared that spring had officially arrived. Arya expected news of her wedding to follow soon but, as chance would have it, another wedding was declared first. That of Sansa to Willas Tyrell of High Garden.

Margaery announced it to Tywin before the news was made public to the court. Arya thought it was strange when the Queen arrived at the Tower of the Hand, her smile as sweet as ever. "Lord Tywin. And, oh, Lady Arya, you're here too. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"You are not interrupting, my queen," Tywin said. "What brings you here?"

"My grandmother sent a letter to me this morning," Margaery said. "She hoped I might deliver it to you."

"Strange, considering she could have sent it directly to me," Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Unless she is hoping you will soften the words."

Margaery smiled sweetly. "Of course not. Everyone knows you are entirely immune to charm, my lord Hand."

Arya bit back a laugh, studying the page of her book intently to keep in contained. Tywin gestured for Margaery to hand over the letter. Arya glanced up as he read it, looking from Margaery back to him. If the contents of the letter irritated him, he did not make it obvious. He only barely furrowed his brow. Then he lowered the letter and glanced at Arya. "It appears your sister is soon to be wed."

"Oh. Really?" Arya asked, with a tone of not at all convincing surprise. "To who?"

"To my brother Willas," Margaery said. "My grandmother has been in contact with Lady Stark and Lady Sansa for many moons. Its high time Willas wed, and Sansa seems an ideal woman for him. We heard she handled the siege of Winterfell with grace considering her lack of experience."

"Yes," Tywin agreed. "But it seems you have been plotting this since long before the siege."

"Plotting is hardly the word. Betrothals are made all the time, and my grandmother did not think the matter would be of concern to you."

"I'm sure she didn't," Tywin said. "Very well. I will make the arrangements for the king to travel to the Reach in two moons time. It's time that Tommen be seen outside of the Crownlands. The Reach might as well be his first stop."

"I thought the same," Margaery said. "Spring is just the time for travel. It will brighten the spirits of the people after wars and winter."

"Undoubtedly," Tywin said in a dry voice. Margaery was sweet and kind at all times whereas Tywin did not seem to know the meaning of either word.

When Margaery had left, Tywin exhaled and tossed the letter to the side. "She never falters. It's almost enough to convince one that she is genuine."

"Whether it's a front or not, I think she is kind," Arya said. "She just...exaggerates."

"She has her grandmother's thorns beneath that smile. But it will make her a good queen." He glanced at Arya. "You knew of this wedding."

Arya raised her book a bit higher so that it covered her face. "Yes?"

"Interesting that you did not mention it," Tywin said.

"Well, I only found out when I returned to Winterfell and Sansa told me," Arya said. "Then after that, quite a bit happened. To be completely honest, I forgot." She closed her book and set it to the side. "Why should it matter anyway? I never knew you had an interest in who my sister married."

"The Lannisters are in tentative truce with both the Tyrells and the Starks. The dealings of both families are in my interest," Tywin said. "Lady Olenna did not select your sister merely for her beauty or skills. She selected her in response to your engagement to Jaime."

Arya's brow furrowed. "How? I wasn't aware you even told her."

"I didn't. But she suspected...she has suspected since Tommen and Margaery's wedding."

"You hadn't engaged me to him yet at the wedding."

"I was considering it though," Tywin said. "Olenna actually had designs on engaging you to Loras Tyrell and I refused the offer. I suspect she recognized then that I had other plans for you. And then of course word got around to the young queen and she told her grandmother, confirming her suspicions." Tywin tapped his desk. "Olenna Tyrell is no fool. By marrying you to my son I would secure a Stark and Lannister alliance. Which means that if the Tyrells and Lannisters were to ever fall into conflict, I would have more families on my side. The Starks through you, the Baratheons through Tommen. And of course the Lannisters. So, to be sure that I can never use your family against them, she reaches out to the other Stark girl and secures a marriage alliance between the eldest daughter and her eldest son. And just like that, the Tyrells and Lannisters are balanced again."

Arya exhaled. "So, everything really is politics, isn't it? Even marriage."

"Especially marriage," Tywin said. "The smallfolk can afford to marry for their hearts. Families like ours must consider the future and our standing in everything we do or we could lose it."

"You married for _your_ heart though," Arya pointed out. There was a silence as Arya realized what she had just said. Forbidden topic. She had just stepped into a forbidden topic. Tywin's face was unreadable for a long moment, and Arya was quick to backtrack. "I mean...I was reading about it in this book today. It mentioned...well it was about the events that led to Robert's Rebellion and she was...named more than once."

Tywin did not reply immediately. He seemed to closely study his quill and ink well as he searched for words. Then he nodded once. "In that case...my interests and the interests of the Lannister family happened to intersect. We needed to strengthen our name so marrying another Lannister was a wise move. It showed a united front between our many different factions."

Arya sighed. He really was able to bring logic into everything, wasn't he? Still, for a moment she had seen his usual composed nature falter.

"It does help a match if the man and woman like each other to some degree," Tywin continued. "It's just not a necessity. Even if you and Jaime loathed each other, I wouldn't much care. But you clearly don't."

Something about his tone made Arya shift uncomfortably. "I...well I suppose we are friends of sorts. It does help."

"Yes, I imagine it does," Tywin said.

"Anyway...this...match between Sansa and Willas," Arya said, hoping to change the subject. "It only seems to benefit our families in the long run. You and Olenna have equal connection to the Stark family. The Stark family has equal connection to you. Because of that, we are more likely to stay at peace. You can't leverage us against the Tyrells and the Tyrells can't leverage us against you. Two of the wealthiest families and one of the oldest are allied against any other potential threats."

"Yes. True enough," Tywin said. "But marriage is not a guarantee of peace. Families are split by civil war all the time."

"My family will not be," Arya said. "We've lost too much already for that."

Tywin inclined his head. "In any case, I am sure your brother will be traveling south for your sister's wedding. It only makes since then, for your wedding to Jaime to take place soon afterwards. Your brother cannot afford to travel south twice when the north is still in such a tentative state."

Arya swallowed hard. "No...That wouldn't make sense, would it?"

"So you have no objections then," Tywin said.

"It's always funny when you pretend like my objections will matter," Arya said with a sigh as she returned to her book. "No, my lord. I have no objections."

* * *

Arya found herself wandering back to her practice room shortly after her conversation with Tywin. She knew that Syrio would not be there at this time, but she needed some time to process the new certainty of her wedding.

For the past several moons, it had only been a concept in her mind. A distant, nebulous future. Now it was certain. Two moons from now, her sister would be wed. And a fortnight later...so would she.

The door to her practice room was open when she arrived and she heard someone practicing within. Jaime. She stepped quietly through the door, leaning up against the wall to watch. She didn't want to interrupt him in the middle of a set.

He had improved greatly with his left hand. She could tell as much from how he moved. But was especially interesting to her was how he seemed to combine the usual Westerosi style with movements more reminiscent of water dancing. His swords strokes were like that of a knight but his footwork...that was more Bravosi. It struck her then that perhaps Jaime really had learned a few things from her in their time sparring together.

 _He was the kind of knight I always wanted to be,_ Arya thought. _Strange that I could teach him anything._

He finished his set and lowered his sword, breathing heavily from the exertion. "Did you not want to join me, Lady Arya?"

"I didn't want to interrupt," Arya murmured.

"Considerate of you." He sipped water from a canteen. "You seem troubled."

"I'm not...troubled," she said slowly. "Not quite."

"Not quite," Jaime repeated. "So what are you?"

"Pensive," Arya decided. That seemed the right word to fit her mood.

"I see. And what has you so pensive?" Jaime asked.

Arya exhaled. She might as well tell him now. "Our wedding as a certain date. In two moons, my sister is to marry Willas Tyrell at Highgarden. We will marry a fortnight later."

Jaime was silent for a long moment as he considered the news. "Well...there you have it. I suppose we put things off for as long as we could." He smirked. "Thought there's still the shoving me down the stairs idea if it appeals to you."

"A bit, perhaps. But we don't want to risk breaking your one good hand," Arya said. "No, it's...its fine. I'm not so worried about the marriage. I'm worried about the wedding but...not the marriage. That is...I'm not worried about you."

"Very high praise," Jaime said, though his smirk had softened slightly. "I'm not worried about you either. In respect to the marriage at least. The way you seem to attract danger does worry me a bit."

"Really? I've grown used to it," Arya said.

Jaime laughed once. "I imagine you have." He stepped forward, taking her left hand in his own. It was strange feeling his palm against her own-both of them calloused from so many hours of working with their twin swords. She supposed she had never really noticed before. "Well, we have two full hands between us. And an extra three fingers. I think that's enough to handle whatever dangers you bring."

Arya smiled. "The three extra fingers will make all the difference."

"Yes, I think they will." Jaime bent, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, almost in jest. Arya couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you trying to play the gallant knight, ser?"

"I don't need to _play_ at it. I am a knight," Jaime pointed out.

"But are you really a _gallant_ one?"

"Am I not gentlemanly enough for you, my lady?"

"No, not nearly. You know that I am extremely concerned with chivalry because I am a delicate young woman."

Jaime chuckled and released her hand. "Yes, draw your sword and show me just how delicate you are."

Arya grinned at the challenge. "If you insist, ser."

* * *

The next day at court, two weddings were announced. The wedding of Sansa Stark to Willas Tyrell. And the wedding of Arya to Jaime Lannister. As she stood amongst the lords and ladies of the court, Arya felt every eye turn to look at her. They had seen her in their midst, heard rumors about her for years. And now they saw her in a new light. The woman who would soon become the lady of Casterly Rock.

Their gazes burned and Arya, quite truthfully, longed to be anywhere else. But she did not show it. She set her expression and lifted her chin only slightly. If they were looking for weakness they would not get it. If they were looking to cast judgement, she would not care.

She was a wolf soon to wear a lion's coat, and she would not be cowed.

* * *

Cersei was nearly trembling with rage. On the floor of her room, on the other side of her desk, sat a letter from Grand Maester Pycelle and she had not stopped glaring at it since she had crumpled it and discarded it on the floor.

Moons ago, when she first returned to Casterly Rock, she was quick to establish communication with the old Maester. Not to act as her ally. Heavens no. She wouldn't trust the old man as far as she could throw him, and Pycelle was always such a worshipper of her father. No, she merely needed someone to be her eyes. So she played the part of a grieving mother who missed her son and pleaded for updates on his wellbeing. Pycelle was more than happy to reply. He was loyal to the Lannisters after all and looked for every opportunity to demonstrate that.

In time, Cersei was able to ask other questions of him. About the Tyrells, about her father, about Jaime, about Arya Stark. She framed every question as simple curiosity and Pycelle did not seem to suspect. Between Pycelle and her other remaining spies, she was kept relatively knowledgeable about every event in King's Landing.

But today's news...today... Cersei did not even want to think about it. Of course, she had known for a long time that Arya was engaged to marry Jaime but now it was certain. Now a date was set. And what was she supposed to do about it? Less than three moons away and her brother would be attached to that awful, wild girl.

It had crossed her mind to find some way to disrupt the wedding. But no. Her father would see her finger prints all over that. Even if she could convince him to let her return to the keep to see the wedding of her dear twin brother, he would not take his eyes off of her. She could send an assassin of course, but even that would point to her as a culprit. Who but her would be so dedicated to interrupting Arya and Jaime's wedding? And if the assassin was caught it would not take her father long to realize that she had aided the Boltons as well.

 _Why should I care if he realizes,_ she thought. _I don't fear him._

Even her own thoughts lied to her these days. Of course she feared him. Hadn't she always. It seemed since she was a little girl, her father had been a terrifying sort of figure to her. Distant. Cold. As immovable as a statue-or a god.

She did fear him. She hated him. She loved him. She wanted to prove him wrong about everything by beating him at his own game.

 _Wine. I need wine._

There was no more wine in her room so she stood and stalked off in search of some. She had been trying to limit her drinking lately. She needed a clearer head if she ever intended to get her revenge on her father for sending her back. But whenever she was angry, her tongue ached for the taste.

Her footsteps struck the stone and filled the hall with the echo. Casterly Rock was such a vast keep that it often seemed empty, even when it was filled with maids and serving boys and lords and ladies. Cersei did not mind the solitude. She was not sure she could tolerate too many people trying to talk to her.

But in the midst of walking, she was distracted by a cracked open door and she paused mid stride. She was familiar with that door. She recalled having often gone through it during her childhood. And...for some reason...she was called to venture inside again. For awhile she didn't move. She stared, standing absolutely still. Then, she shook her head and opened the door wide.

Inside was a small parlor with lush red carpets and a roaring fireplace. There were shelves full of books along the walls and on one side sat a pianoforte, made of intricately carved white wood. The windows along one side of the room looked out over the edge of the cliffs of the rocks and one could see the waves crashing below when they looked through.

It had been...so long since she had entered this room. Not since before Robert. No...even longer before that. She was a child the last time she stood here.

A wave of melancholy washed over her, bringing memories with it. Her mother used to spend an awful lot of time in this room. Cersei remembered sitting at her feet with Jaime while she read to them. She remembered fawning over her swollen stomach soon before she gave birth asking if she would have a girl or a boy. Cersei had wanted a girl so she could have a sister. Jaime wanted a boy so that he could have a brother. Jaime won in the end of course-because didn't he always-and their mother had died to give her monstrous younger brother life.

But at the time, they had not known what would happen. Neither she nor Jaime had even comprehended that their mother might leave them. They did not truly understand death.

Cersei's fingers danced along the keys of the pianoforte. When she pressed down, she found the old thing dreadfully out of tune. But she remembered she used to be able to play quite well. It was a proper activity for a young lady to enjoy. When she was a child, Cersei had rejected most feminine activities because she didn't understand why she should be forced to do things different from Jaime. But she did like the pianoforte because it was something of a puzzle to understand how to play it. It took patience to learn, something Jaime had never had. So she had learned it to impress her parents.

Her mother had been impressed, she remembered. And her father...had her father smiled at her once when she played? She recalled he used to smile more often when her mother was alive, but sometimes she wondered if she had imagined it all. She could not picture him smiling at her now.

She pressed down on the key again, harder this time, and the room was filled with the awful, strident note. She pressed again and again and again, the same note over and over.

 _I was never enough. I could never be enough._

She had once toyed with the idea that she might be her father's heir. After all, Jaime had no interest in being lord of Casterly Rock at all. And Tyrion...well he was _Tyrion_. But Cersei was the first born and she had always been an excellent student. That's why when she heard her father planned to marry her off to Prince Rhaegar, she had objected at first.

" _Why must I marry anyone? The Rock is my home. I could learn to take care of it. I'm smarter than either of my brothers. You should make me your heir."_

" _Are you?"_ her father had asked. _"And when did you decide this?"_

" _I know I'm not meant to be merely someone's wife. I am meant to rule."_

" _Queens do rule, Cersei."_

" _That's not what I meant."_

And that's when he had presented her with a hypothetical scenario. The Farman problem. He said that if she was so capable of ruling that the question should be easy for her.

" _One group attacks the Farmans of Fair Isle and the other attacks House Swyft of Cornfield. To whom do you give aid?"_

" _House Farman," Cersei said. "Because of their important position on the coast. They are vital to our army because of their navy."_

" _They have a strong navy, yes,"_ her father said _. "But you are wrong. Anyone who attacked them would do so from the coast and they are well fortified to withstand an attack of that kind. House Swyft, on the other hand, is in charge of the majority of our crop production and is in a much less defensible position. Any enemy attacking would undoubtedly go after the fields, if they were smart. It could devastate the Westerlands and make us more reliant on others for imports. Would you make the Westerlands reliant on another region?"_

The words had struck Cersei dumb and left her feeling utterly humiliated. She had stammered, unable to come up with an answer.

" _You overestimate your abilities,"_ her father said. _"I decide my heir. I decide who you marry. And you listen."_

The Farman problem had infuriated Cersei for days after. It was a trick question meant to give her father the last word. She knew her brothers would have answered the exact same way. It didn't _prove_ anything.

But then, how could she argue? How could she move him? From the moment her mother died, he became immovable as stone. Cold. Distant. Never smiling.

As Cersei grew a bit older, she saw the value in marrying a prince or a king. In such a position, she would be one of the most powerful women in the kingdom. It was the kind of thing that every woman should dream of and she learned to dream the same. After Rhaegar died and her betrothed became Robert Baratheon, she resolved to earn the new King's heart and gain power through him.

Except...

 _Lyanna._

Except...that was never possible. His heart belonged to a dead girl and quickly her marriage turned into a nightmare. Her father had bound her to a drunkard for the purpose of his legacy. If she had answered the Farman question correctly, might he have not forced her to marry?

 _I wasn't enough._

She had never been enough for anyone. She was the lesser twin between her and Jaime because he was a son and not a daughter. She wasn't enough for Robert who had only wanted Lyanna. And had she been betrothed to Rhaegar, she knew the prince would have abandoned her for the Stark girl as well. Now Jaime was engaged to marry a different Stark girl and he had barely put up a fight. Did he decide he liked the girl better?

 _No Jaime loves me. He has always loved me. He must._

 _I have to be enough for someone._

She slammed the whole flat of her hand down on the piano and let the sound startle her from her thoughts. Then, behind her, she heard a voice.

"Cersei?"

Uncle Kevan. He had returned to Casterly Rock now that her father had taken back his position as hand. She shouldn't have been so careless. If he saw her weakness he could suspect her of being a traitor.

"Is something wrong?" Kevan asked.

Cersei let her hand slip away from the pianoforte and she forced a smile onto her face. "No, nothing is wrong. I was looking for some wine. I...haven't had any all day and I'm rather parched. But I wandered in here and got distracted."

Kevan observed her with an almost pitying expression. Cersei hated to see it. She hated when anyone looked at her with pity. She was a lion. She did not need the sympathies of anyone, not even her own kind.

"Come with me then. I know where you can find some wine."

* * *

"You do seem to be doing better than you were when you arrived. You're drinking less," Kevan said. "It is possible that if you continue to improve, your father will allow you to return to King's Landing and your son."

"I don't think he will," Cersei said with a bitter smile. "Because...it would be of no benefit to him. He has already replaced me."

Kevan didn't speak for a moment, but his silence felt like an agreement. Cersei's grip tightened on her glass.

"He hasn't replaced you, Cersei. He just...doesn't know how to handle his mistakes. He would rather ignore them."

Cersei fixed him with an icy glare. "Are you implying that I am a mistake?"

"I would never dream of it. But Tywin was mistaken in how he handled you," Kevan said. Cersei was surprised to hear him say that. Kevan worshipped her father-his dedicated little brother who would do anything he asked. He did not make a habit of questioning him. "He didn't know how to handle you...not after your mother passed. You looked so much like her and he could barely stand to be near you for that reason. The older you grew, the more painful the reminder. He would never say as much out loud, but it's true. You weren't to blame."

"I never thought it was," Cersei said, slipping back into her usual control. She swirled the wine in her glass. "It doesn't matter. I've long stopped trying to earn his approval. It's nothing to me anymore. If he wishes to keep me here where he doesn't have to look upon me, very well."

Kevan did not reply, but she could tell he was not convinced. Just like her father, he spoke volumes with his silences. It was a family trait.

"Tell me more about the attacks on the coast," Cersei said, changing the subject. "Have they abated yet?"

"Increased, actually," Kevan said. "But you needn't worry yourself with that."

"Why? Are you worried it will upset my delicate constitution?" Cersei asked. "I held the Rock together well enough when you were acting as hand to Tommen. You can trust me with this news."

Kevan exhaled. "Yes, you did do a fine job here. Well, it's nothing that the Farman's can't handle. Likely the ships belong to Greyjoy survivors looking for revenge. The North may have been the ones to subdue them but they know your father gave the order. They don't have the true manpower to harm us though."

"Is that so?" Cersei murmured, staring at her reflection her wine. "We'll see..."

With any luck...perhaps the surviving Greyjoys could be of use to her. But for now, she had to bide her time.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Somehow this is the first scene I've written with Kevan. I did enjoy writing him. He's one of those underrated characters in the books and he's barely present in the show. Hope you guys enjoyed Cersei's thoughts! Until next time, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	64. Chapter 64: Highgarden

_**A/N: Alright and we're back. How about that season 8 trailer right? It was pretty stressful, because my girl Arya was in danger, and I have, of course NEVER put Arya in danger ;) In all seriousness, I'm so hyped for season 8, but we've got another month and a week to go so until then, enjoy this fic which is, for the moment, non stressful. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 64: Highgarden**

Arya had never seen High Garden-only heard it described with every synonym of 'beautiful' imaginable. And when Arya first saw the castle in the distance, she had no choice but to agree. The entirety of the Reach was a pleasant sight, full of lush fields and forest, with flowers blooming in every color with the coming of spring. But High Garden stood out against the surround landscape like a beacon. The keep was made of white stone, with many towers and a flag flapping at every one. Arya could spy the gardens even from this distance and they put those of King's Landing to shame.

This was why an alliance between the Lannister and Tyrells were important. The Lannisters had control of the mines but the Tyrells had most of the food in Westeros. When the winter came, you could not eat gold or silver.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Jaime asked. "This is the first you've been to the Reach?"

"Yes," Arya said.

"I've only been a few times myself," Jaime said. "For tourneys mostly. It's certainly the ideal setting for a wedding."

"I wonder if my family has already arrived," Arya said. It would be good to see them. It had only been five moons since they parted but she already missed them terribly. Her mother, her brother, her sister. She hoped to see them all. If only she could see her other brothers as well, but she was sure Bran and Jon were still at the wall. "Has your father told them about our wedding yet?"

"I haven't asked, but I'm sure he has," Jaime said. "Though you shouldn't complain if he hasn't. You were the lucky one who avoided having to tell them about the actual engagement."

"Yes, that was the good thing about being a hostage," Arya said. "You were in the room when they found out, weren't you?"

"I was," Jaime said. "I did not like it."

Arya allowed herself a little smirk. "At least you lived to tell about it."

When they reached the gates, they were ushered inside with all of the ceremony usually afforded to prominent lords and ladies. Arya was shown to her room which had a window with a splendid view of the garden below, including a hedge maze that she knew Tommen would be solving as soon as he got the chance to step away from his kingly duties. In the closet she found several dresses, all in her size, along with a letter from her sister.

" _I know that dressing for formal occasions overwhelms you, so I found some suitable pieces so that you do not have to worry about choice. They will all look splendid on you, I promise. With love, Sansa."_

Arya smiled and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to her sister. She had already been worrying about how to dress herself for such an extravagant wedding, and Sansa had come to her rescue.

Soon after she was settled in her room, Arya received an invitation from Lady Olenna to join her for tea in the gardens. Her mother and sister would be there, as well as Lady Margaery. Arya selected the first dress she saw-a light bluish green piece-and quickly slipped it on. She only barely stopped to make sure it was on correctly before hurrying out the door. She didn't want to wait for a handmaid to do her hair. She wanted to see her sister and mother as soon as possible.

On her way to the pavilion, Arya nearly ran headlong into a man with a long cane when she turned the corner. She spun out of the way just in time, resting a hand on his arm in reflex. "Sorry, I was in a bit of a rush. I'm very sorry."

"No need for apologies." The man said with smile. He had dark hair and eyes that seemed to shift between blue and green depending on the light. He could not be more than thirty but he was clearly using that cane to help him stand. "You...wouldn't happen to be Arya Stark, would you?"

"Yes, that's me," Arya smoothed down her skirts. "And you are...?"

"Willas Tyrell," the man said. "Your sister's soon to be husband."

"Oh. Of course. Of course I would meet you by almost knocking you off your feet. My apologies," Arya said.

"No, no. You course corrected just in time. It was actually impressive," Willas said. "I'm glad to meet you. Your sister has already told me so much about you."

"Nothing but good things, I'm sure," Arya said.

"Well, I've heard tell of many of your childhood pranks, let's put it that way," Willas said.

"She deserved some of them," Arya said. "Don't let her convince you she was completely innocent."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Willas said. "You can give me your side of the story later but for now, I believe you are headed toward the pavilion and I won't be blamed for making you late." He gave her a small bow. "A pleasure to meet you in person."

"You as well," Arya said with a hasty curtsy.

Willas limped away then and Arya watched him go, curiously. He was not outstandingly handsome but no one in their right mind could call him ugly. He had kind eyes and an equally kind smile. Nothing forced about his wit or tone. It relieved Arya. It seemed Sansa had found herself a good husband-one that would treat her well and not tempt Arya to poison his cup.

She allowed herself a small smile, then continued on toward the pavilion.

Her mother, Sansa, Margaery and Olenna were already there when she arrived. Sansa stood at once to embrace her tightly. "Arya." Then she abruptly stepped back. "Oh...your injuries. Are you healed?"

"Fully healed. I have been for a few moons," Arya said. "You can hug me. I won't break."

Sansa smiled and pulled her back into her arms. Arya hugged her in return, happy to have her sister back. Though it had only been five moons it had felt like much longer than that.

Once Sansa released her, Catelyn stepped in to take her place, drawing her in close and kissing her cheek. "You look well, Arya. There's no trace of the war on you."

"Except for the missing fingers," Arya held up her right hand. "And there's the scar on my cheek. But it's not that much at all. Not compared to when I was at Winterfell."

"Yes you certainly have had a time of it," Lady Olenna called from her seat at the table. "I've heard some vague tails from your sister and even more rumors from others. I'm glad you are here to set them straight."

Arya swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Lady Olenna. I am glad to see you again. You look well."

"Yes, yes, I know. Lovely as a rose and not one sign of age upon me." Olenna waved her hand dismissively. "Come girl, sit down. Take your tea. Answer an old woman's questions."

"She'll answer what she is able," Catelyn said, her voice firm. "But my daughter has been through a lot. I would ask you not to pry to deeply."

Olenna raised an eyebrow. "I think your daughter can handle an old woman's words. She is made of stronger stuff than you think."

"She is made of iron. I know that," Catelyn said. "I'm her mother. None the less, my request stands."

Arya felt a rush of affection for her mother, who was willing to speak so curtly to the Queen of Thorns on her behalf. If Olenna was offended, she did not show it, only smiled in amusement.

"Yes, yes. I understand," she turned her eyes on Arya as she eased into a chair next to her sister. "So...I've heard peculiar rumors about you and your wolf. It seems a fascinating story."

Arya exhaled. Her wolf she could discuss without worry. "It is...but I would like to know what the rumors say first."

"That you rode on the back of a direwolf. That you can control it with your mind. I think I heard one rumor that you transformed into a wolf," Olenna said. "Is there any credence to that, or is the beast just a pet after all."

Arya laughed once. "Oh I can't turn into a wolf. And I haven't ridden Nymeria though I imagine I could. She's grown as large as any horse." She decided to sidestep the question about 'mind control'. After all, she didn't fully understand the warging that Bran talked about. "She's more loyal than any common pet though. She protected me more than once. I miss her."

"She has been through the north with her wolf pack," Sansa said. "We hear her howling in the night and sometimes we see her running across the horizon."

Arya smiled faintly. "Good...I did ask her to watch over you all."

"How fitting to your sigil that you would bond with such a noble creature," Margaery said. "Like something out of a song."

"Yes," Olenna said. "A shame that our sigil is less interesting. No one wants a pet flower."

"I'm proud of our sigil all the same," Margaery said. "Though, now that I am a Baratheon, I wonder if I might find a pet stag."

"Now that would be a sight," Olenna said. "Let me know if you ever do. And let me know if the Lannisters ever manage to tame lions."

Their conversation continued on in this way. Olenna never pried too deeply about Arya's imprisonment with Ramsay Bolton. Her questions were ones she could answer easily, and soon enough the topic wandered to other matters. Her mother and Olenna clearly got along and Sansa and Margaery were two women cut from the same cloth.

Arya felt very out of place in this setting. Her surroundings were wrong, her dress was wrong, even the company seemed...not quite what she was used to. Margaery, Sansa, her mother, Olenna-They each fit so well into the role of 'lady'. Arya felt rather like she was in a costume trying to blend in.

But in the midst of a conversation between Olenna and her mother, Sansa leaned over, whispering in her ear:

"That dress looks lovely on you Arya. It's a good color."

Arya's mouth twitched into a small smile. "You chose it."

"Yes, for you specifically," Sansa said. "And you're beautiful regardless of the dress."

Beautiful. Arya was still getting used to hearing that word. As a scrappy child so often covered in dirt, with a tangled bird's nest of hair, she was never called beautiful. More often she was mistaken for a boy. How far she had come from that little girl. More beautiful, yes, but also stronger. Smarter. The past several years had carved her into a new shape.

It was not a shape she was used to or even one she expected, but it was one she was slowly learning to accept it.

After some time, Olenna excused herself from the pavilion to rest before the night's feast. The wedding was not for another few days, but the celebration had already begun in earnest. She needed to save her strength to deal with all her "less favored guests".

No sooner did she leave, Margaery rose and glided down the path. "My king. How are you enjoying the weather?"

"Well. And these gardens are incredible. There's an impressive hedge maze," Tommen said.

Arya turned to greet Tommen but was surprised to see Robb standing beside him. She stood abruptly almost knocking over her chair. Her brother looked tired but...better. More composed. He smiled when he saw her and that was the only invitation Arya needed to run to him.

"I'm glad you made it south," she said as she embraced him.

"Of course," Robb said. "I couldn't miss both my sisters' weddings."

Arya exhaled with relief. "Oh good...so they did tell you."

Robb pulled back to look at her. "Yes of course they did. Weddings aren't usually used as a secret or a surprise."

"I know. I just hate being the person to give that kind of news," Arya said. "How are things in the north? How are the children?"

"The children are well. Maester Luwin is watching out for them, and a number of our bannermen have offered a few extra men for protection while I'm away," Robb said. "The north is...calming. All of the logistics are taken care of, at least." He looked her over. "And you? You injuries?"

"As healed as they're going to be," Arya said.

"Good," Robb said. "You look well. That's a nice dress."

"Selected specially by me," Sansa said, joining them in the circle. Their mother followed closely behind her. "I thought it was her color."

"I wouldn't know, but it does seem you're right," Robb said.

"Your brother and I were just speaking about the time you saved my life," Tommen said. "At the hedge maze."

"An accidental saving," Arya said. "I only barely reacted in time."

"You really never stopped having an eventful time over these past few years," Robb said.

"I hope this wedding will be uneventful," Arya said. "The last few moons have been peaceful. I'd like to keep that for as long as possible."

"That's a shame," Tommen said. "When I find the maze later, I hoped you would protect me."

"Isn't that what your guards are for?" Margaery pointed out with a little smile.

"Yes but they're not very fun company," Tommen said with a laugh.

She exhaled, taking in the sunshine and the fresh air. Bran had warned of a false spring with a soon to come winter. She believed him, yes, but right now the air was warm and the company was good.

And she just wanted to enjoy the moment.

* * *

The Tyrell gardens held little appeal to Tywin for their beauty, but they were an ideal place to meet lords and reaffirm connections and alliances. Weddings were political events, not just a time for feast and folly. He had encouraged Tommen to speak with as many of his allies as he could on this trip. After all, it was the king's first journey from the castle, and therefore vital to creating a good public image.

Not that he had to worry about Tommen in that area. The boy was naturally sociable and friendly. When it came to establishing good will, he was a natural. It was the ruling part he needed help with more than anything, and Tywin and the rest of the small council could easily provide that.

Meanwhile, if there were any more difficult allies with whom to speak, Tywin could handle that instead.

"Lord Tywin."

 _Speaking of difficult._

The Dornish accent was immediately familiar to Tywin and he had only to turn to recognize the face. Oberyn Martell. Not a man he particularly wanted to see that day, but he should have expected as much. Oberyn and Willas Tyrell were friends and the Reach was close enough to Dorne that they had extensive trade between them.

"Prince Oberyn," Tywin replied coolly. "How nice that you have finally made your way north again. We missed you at the royal wedding."

"Was I missed? That's good to hear," Oberyn said. "My brother was awfully sick at the time, so I felt it necessary to stay behind and assist him." His smile was one part cordial and one part venomous. "Which is just as well. I'm not so fond of the Capitol. It brings up terrible memories. My sister died there you know."

"I'm aware," Tywin said coolly. "You have my condolences."

"Your _condolences_ ," Oberyn said the word like it was a joke. He looked like he might very much like to stab Tywin-and would have had not the gardens been full of witnesses. "You may keep them. They do her no good. I did not come for your condolences."

"Then what did you come for?" Tywin asked.

"To see my dear friend Willas marry," Oberyn said lightly. "Don't worry. I brought a guest you might like to see." He glanced behind him, waving someone over. Tywin looked past him to see a young woman with long golden blonde hair approaching. It took him a moment to recognize his own granddaughter. Myrcella. She had grown up quite a bit.

"Grandfather," Myrcella smiled brightly when she saw him. She was one of the few who could boast that kind of expression in his presence. "How nice to see you again."

"Yes," Tywin said, recovering quickly from his surprise. "You look well."

"I am," Myrcella said. She stepped to the side and ushered forward a boy about her own age. "This is Trystane Martell. My betrothed."

"Ah, yes," Tywin inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet you."

"And you," Trystan said. There was no acid in his tone. If he knew of his uncle's hatred for Lannisters he did not seem to share it. At least on the surface.

"The girl and my nephew get along quite well," Oberyn said. "It's a blessing. Not all arranged matches have such enviable results."

 _No,_ Tywin thought. _Your sister's match with Rhaegar had very poor results, didn't it?_

"I am pleased to hear it," Tywin said, keeping as much cordiality in his voice as he could. "If you would excuse me for a moment, I would like to speak with my granddaughter alone."

"Yes, my lord." Trystane gave a little bow of his head. He, at least, was not venomous in his courtesies. Oberyn only barely nodded, the hate of his gaze still burning into Tywin.

"As you wish. Come along Trystane."

Tywin watched them go, his jaw clenched tight. They could certainly cause problems. Oberyn was not the most prudent of his family and he seemed the type to try something rash. Tywin was not in the mood to deal with any more threats.

If Myrcella had noticed any of the tension passing between Oberyn and Tywin, she did not show it. Her smile had not even wavered. The girl looked more like her mother with each passing day, but she had inherited none of her iron or her anger. Tywin did not know where Myrcella had gotten her kind spirit. Not from Robert and not from Cersei. Not from any of her family. But that was likely for the best. If Myrcella had shown too much Lannister blood, Dorne might be more of a threat to her.

"I was so happy when they said I could come," Myrcella said. "It's been too long since I've seen everyone. When last I left, Joff was still alive."

"I'm sorry you were not able to pay your respects," Tywin said.

"It's all right. I don't think he would have cared either way," Myrcella said. "I've missed Tommen more than anything. And mother. Is she here? I hope that she's here."

Myrcella's eyes were almost painfully hopeful and Tywin looked away to observe the flowers instead. "I'm afraid not. She's at Casterly Rock."

"Why?" Myrcella asked. "I can't imagine she would leave Tommen."

"No, she didn't want to," Tywin said. "But...your mother wasn't well. The political life of the capitol was beginning to have a poor effect on her."

Myrcella frowned. "The drinking you mean?"

Tywin did not reply for a moment. Myrcella had a kind heart, yes, but she was an observant little thing. She would not be ignorant to her mother's growing drinking habits, which had started even before Myrcella had departed for Dorne.

"Yes, the drinking," he said at last. "She will be sorry she did not get to see you, but I will write her and tell her that you are well."

"Or maybe I can visit her at Casterly Rock," Myrcella suggested.

"That would be up to your Martell escorts," Tywin said, glancing over his shoulder. He wondered if any of the Dornish were following them. "How have they been treating you?"

"Very well," Myrcella said. "I've made many friends and Trystane...well he's very kind. When I arrived in Dorne I was so afraid but it seemed I worried for nothing." Her smile told him that she spoke true. He did not imagine Myrcella could hide a lie behind such an open face. "It's very warm there. Throughout the whole winter I barely felt a chill."

"Dorne is known for its climate," Tywin said. Somehow, Myrcella's being treated well felt like a taunt. She was his own granddaughter, given as a hostage to Dorne to keep them at peace. It was, admittedly, a wise move on Tyrion's part to offer her. Tywin had wondered if, in their thirst for vengeance, the Martells might be tempted to kill Myrcella and claim it "an accident".

But no. They treated her well, as if to say _"we do not murder innocents in Dorne. Not even for revenge"._

It was _his_ life they wanted, as well as that of the Mountain. Even though they had no absolute proof beyond rumors, they knew the truth and so did Tywin.

 _A traitor in the south._

The Martells did strike him as a possibility. They had been in his mind since he heard of the traitor. They did not know of Arya's value to him but they could have found the truth from a well-placed spy. Not to mention the poison that had almost killed him years ago...Littlefinger and Joffrey had sent the assassin, but who was to say that Littlefinger wasn't in contact with the Dornish. Poison was one of Oberyn Martell's favorite weapons.

"Have you noticed any unrest in Dorne during your stay?" Tywin asked Myrcella as they rounded the corner. "Any tension?"

Myrcella thought about it for a moment. "No. In fact there is much less tension than King's Landing."

That wasn't difficult to achieve at all. Tywin decided to cease that line of questioning. If the Dornish were plotting anything, they wouldn't have let Myrcella hear even a word of it.

"That's good to here," he said at last. "Come...I think your brother is close."

They reached the pavilion at the center where Tommen stood. With him stood his queen and all of the Stark guests. Catelyn, Robb, Sansa and Arya. They were all standing in a circle, laughing over some joke. Starks, Tyrells, Baratheons. What an interesting assortment of people, and not a forced smile among them.

When Tommen turned and saw Myrcella, his face lit up and he rushed to embrace her. Brother and sister hugged and giggled in the sunlight after too many years apart. Tywin watched at a distance from the shadow of a willow tree.

They, at least, were good seed. Two branches of his legacy that had not been tarnished. Neither had a ruthless bone in their body, but at least they listened to those around them and they were liked by the people.

Every family needed someone to be liked and someone to be feared. Myrcella and Tommen could fit the former, and Tywin would fill the role of the latter for as long as he could. And after he was gone...

His gaze turned to Arya and she met it, giving him a small nod of greeting. He nodded in return and turned away to continue down the path.

What happened after he was gone remained to be seen. But for the first time in a long while, the Lannister legacy was not his principal worry. It felt, somehow, like it was in good hands.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So the Martells are in the game with a rightfully vengeful Oberyn. I do love me some Oberyn, so I'm glad to get to write him. Next chapter he will actually interact with Arya so look forward to that. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	65. Chapter 65: The Maze

_**A/N: It's SPRING BREAK EVERYONE! Thank christ for that. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up on some writing this week so I'm not so stressfully racing to lay down the track of this fic as the deadline train is coming. In any case, I got a pretty long chapter for you guys today with a variet of fun interactions :) Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 65: The Maze**

Arya had only briefly met Princess Myrcella when they were children visiting Winterfell. After that, she had steered clear of the girl and Tommen during her first stay in the Red Keep because she wanted nothing to do with the Lannisters or the Baratheons. And by the time Arya returned to the keep as a hostage, Myrcella had already been packed off to Dorne.

She had been a sweet child, only one year younger than Arya, and now that she was sixteen and grown, she had not lost any of her sweetness. She embraced Arya like an old friend when Tommen reintroduced them.

"It's good to see you again, Lady Arya. I'm glad I will be able to attend your wedding as well," Myrcella smiled. "I suppose you'll be my aunt by marriage soon."

 _And your mother, considering that Jaime is also your father,_ Arya thought. _Ah...that's very strange. I don't want to think about that._

"I suppose I will be," Arya said. Myrcella looked a great deal like Cersei but she had none of her acidity. She and Tommen really were a world apart from Joffrey. "It's been a long time. How has Dorne treated you?"

"Quite well," Myrcella said. "You and I have a lot in common I think. I was sent off to Dorne and you were sent to King's Landing. And we both seem to have made the best of our circumstances."

Arya managed a smile. Yes, she supposed Myrcella's situation was the much the same as hers. The Martells, if she remembered, did not like the Lannisters or Baratheons very much. How could they after Robert's Rebellion? Yet Myrcella had been forced to live amongst them, miles away from her family. "We do have that in common," Arya said. "But I sincerely hope you've experienced fewer assassination attempts."

"That's likely, considering I haven't experienced any," Myrcella said. "Tommen wrote me after you saved his life. I'm grateful to you for that."

"It was nothing," Arya said.

"I had hoped to see the hedge maze this afternoon and I invited Arya to come along," Tommen said. "Myrcella, you should join us! We have so much more to talk about."

"That sounds fun, I would like that," Myrcella said. "I assume Queen Margaery will join us as well?"

"No, I would like to speak a little longer with Sansa," Margaery said with a sunny smile. "The three of you enjoy yourselves. I'll find you again later." She glanced at Arya. "Guard them well."

Arya cracked a smile and curtsied. "Yes, my queen."

* * *

Tywin noticed Myrcella, Tommen and Arya breaking away from the group to continue through the gardens. The others seemed to disperse as well as Sansa and Margery walked arm and arm in the opposite direction and Robb Stark engaged in conversation with another lord. Catelyn Stark, on the other hand, was heading toward him.

The woman usually had nothing but cold glances and scathing words to offer him. She only barely attempted to be courteous at any of their meetings and, if given leave, he was sure she might have cut his throat by now. Today, however, she did not seem so prepared to throttle him. He inclined his head.

"Lady Catelyn."

"Lord Tywin," she returned the greeting. "I assume that the march south was uneventful."

"It was," Tywin said. "I haven't had a chance to speak with your son yet. Is the north settled?"

"As settled as it is going to be," Catelyn said. "I doubt he would be here otherwise. He's grateful that you delayed Arya's wedding enough to allow him to ride south."

"It's necessary that he be here," Tywin said. "In any case...your daughter needed time to heal before stepping into a wedding dress."

Catelyn nodded once. "She seems well on the outside. But I'm not sure if that's for my benefit or not. Is she truly better or is she pretending?"

"Why ask me?" Tywin asked.

"Because I haven't seen her in months," Catelyn said. "And since you intend to marry her to your son, I assume that you've been watching her recovery closely."

Yes, he had. Closer than he would ever admit to anyone else. Arya Stark had likely spent more time in his office than she had in her own room, considering how little she slept these days. He nodded once. "Close enough. But I'm sure she would be able to give you a clearer picture of her health."

"I doubt that," Catelyn said. "Arya never tells me if anything is amiss, because she doesn't want me to worry. She could be dying of poison and she would insist everything is fine and try to handle it herself."

 _That sounds like her,_ Tywin thought.

"She's always been a liar," Catelyn continued. "She used to be dreadful at it...but even if her lie was obvious, she always stuck to her story. She could be covered in mud and still absolutely _insist_ that she didn't venture into the forest without permission." She sighed. "She's gotten better at lying since then and even more stubborn as a consequence."

"The capitol has that effect on people," Tywin said. Arya was a better liar and she could get away with it with most people. She had dropped her obvious tells. One day, she might even be able to hide a lie from him, though he hoped not. "How did you ever get her to admit her lie, if she was so stubborn?"

"Oh, I would send her to her father," Catelyn said. "Arya would lie one hundred times to me, but as soon as her father gave her that disappointed look, she confessed to the crime immediately. It was very frustrating. But I suppose Ned was always gentler with her than I was."

"That doesn't surprise me," Tywin said. "She speaks often and highly of her father."

"Well...regardless, I can't use the trick of sending her to Ned anymore," Catelyn exhaled. "And she's been away from home for so long, it's hard to tell when she's lying now. That's why I asked you."

Tywin glanced down the path, off in the direction of the hedge maze. "Physically, she has improved completely. Some of her injuries have scarred but they don't hurt her anymore. Otherwise...she is improved. She keeps herself busy to avoid thinking too long about the past. But I'm sure that will fade with time."

Catelyn nodded once, seeming satisfied. "Good. Thank you." She looked up at him. "It seems you can give a plenty clear picture of her health."

Tywin's jaw tightened slightly. "As you said, she's about to marry my son. I've been keeping an eye on her."

"Yes, of course," Catelyn gave him a nod. "Enjoy the wedding, Lord Tywin. I'm sure our paths will cross again."

Tywin watched her go, feeling a bit irritated. Not at Catelyn Stark, though she was a vexing sort of person, but himself. His...favor for Arya had been a bit too obvious lately. It was unavoidable perhaps. Everyone would be asking the question of why she had been chosen as a match for his son. But it made him feel oddly exposed.

 _It's not anything strange,_ Tywin thought. _I'm doing what I can to ensure my legacy. That's all._

 _That's all._

* * *

Arya was glad that Myrcella was accompanying them to the maze. It was more proper and less likely to cause rumors than if Arya went wandering with the king alone. So long as his sister was there, Arya supposed Margaery did not have to worry about any such rumors.

" _Rumors will be your constant companion,"_ Tywin had told her once during their lessons. " _Especially because you are a woman. If you deal alone with any man and get your way, they will say you seduced them. You may ignore those rumors if you hear them once, but if they persist, end them."_

" _How? By cutting out their tongue?"_ Arya had asked.

" _No. That only implies that you are afraid of the words they speak. But removing a finger or two would not be amiss."_

The maze of Highgarden was far more vast and confusing than the one in King's Landing, and several other lords and ladies had set themselves to the task of solving it. Tommen was keen to get them lost, but Arya paid attention to every single curve they passed and listened to brother and sister talk.

"It's so strange to be here," Myrcella said. "It will be even stranger when I come to the capital. So much has changed since we were last there." She gave Tommen a playful poke. "You've become king _and_ gotten married."

Tommen flushed. "Yes. It was all rather strange."

"Well she is beautiful, Tommen. I've rarely met a lady like her," Myrcella said. "You must make her happy if it is the last thing you do and never be cruel to her. You wouldn't want a woman like that hating you."

"I would never be cruel to her!" Tommen exclaimed, seeming almost offended by the notion. "Margaery is so kind to me. I couldn't imagine it."

"I know. But there have been many cruel kings," Myrcella said. "And not all of them started out cruel. Prince Dornan once told me that sitting on the iron throne can poison the mind. Like the blades are coated in madness and fury and they seep into you if you cut yourself." She played with her skirts. "It makes sense. It would explain why father was so cruel to mother."

 _Oh...should I be here for this conversation?_ Arya found herself thinking. But she could not bring herself to step away. She kept quiet and listened.

"He never hit her," Tommen said.

"He did once. Maybe twice," Myrcella said. "And he was always drinking and sleeping with whores and snapping at her. All while mother had to be perfectly graceful." She let her fingers dance along the leaves of the hedge. "He was cruel to Joffrey too. Nothing Joff did was ever enough for him, even as a child. Joffrey was always...twisted up, but father made it worse. We were lucky, Tommen. Father barely noticed us."

"I didn't feel lucky about that," Tommen said.

"Neither of us did. But we were," Myrcella said. Arya was surprised by how observant the girl was. She had a sweet face, and it was easy to mistake her as a silly young woman. But she noticed people, especially those in her family. Arya was surprised as the blonde girl glanced at her over her shoulder. "What was your father like, Arya?"

"Oh," Arya was taken aback by the question. "He was...my father was wonderful. He and my mother loved each other and he loved us. He used to let me skip lessons with my Septa and play in the yard with my brothers." She swallowed hard. "He loved your father a great deal. I still do not believe that he betrayed him."

Arya wondered if it was treason to say so...but then again, if it was, she did not expect Tommen to do anything about it.

"He sounds very good," Myrcella said. "I'm sorry our brother killed him."

"You do not need to apologize for your brother," Arya said. "His actions were his own. Now he's dead. It's done with."

"Yes," Myrcella agreed. "I only wish I felt sadder than I did. He was our brother after all." She sighed. "So much else has changed. Mother is at Casterly Rock...Grandfather told me she hasn't been well on account of all of the drinking."

"I get letters from her sometimes. She seems to be recovering," Tommen said. "Perhaps she just needed to get away from the capitol."

"I hope so. I'm going to ask Prince Oberyn if I might visit her. I miss her terribly and I know she misses me." She touched her golden lion necklace. "And then of course there's grandfather. He seems quite different."

"Does he?" Tommen asked.

"Yes. I was always a bit afraid to talk to him," Myrcella said. "But it seems easier now. Perhaps you are easier to manage as king than father or Joffrey."

"I hope so," Tommen said. "But I haven't noticed much of a change."

"Of course you haven't," Myrcella said. "He's been near you for the past several years. But _I've_ been away for a long while. It's apparent, trust me." She glanced over her shoulder at Arya. "Have you noticed it? I know you're a ward, but you seem observant."

"Thank you, princess," Arya said, feeling suddenly a bit self conscious. "But I...couldn't say."

"Oh look!" Tommen said, coming to a stop. "The center of the maze. We solved it."

"That's good," Myrcella said. "I was barely paying attention to where we were going." She smiled brightly. "Shall we find our way out again?"

"You go one," Arya said. "I'd like to say in the center for a bit longer. It will give me some silence before I return to the larger crowds."

"Suit yourself," Myrcella said.

"Would you like me to leave any of my guards with you?" Tommen asked. Arya had almost forgotten about the King's guard following them the whole time.

"That's not necessary, your grace. I have my knife." She gave him and Myrcella a nod. "Princess, it was nice to talk to you. I hope we can do so again."

Myrcella smiled, clasping Arya's hand in her own. "So do I. You seem like a very interesting person."

When Myrcella and Tommen had departed, Arya at last found herself alone in the maze. She let out a long breath and drew her knife, flipping it a few times in her hand. She had brought her swords for the trip but it would only draw more attention if she wore them in the gardens. It had taken every ounce of her strength to keep them in her room, but at least she had her knife up her sleeve.

It would be hard to find space to practice without being seen, but this maze at least gave her a few hidden corners. She flipped the blade about, then tossed it to her other hand, catching the hilt with her three fingers. She had been endeavoring to strengthen them as much as possible, just in case she was ever in a tight spot where her left hand was trapped. As she played with the blade, she reviewed her foot work again. She could hear Syrio's voice in her head, chiding at all the bad habits she was only just beginning to break.

" _Keep your balance. Just so. Do not tense too much as you turn. Let yourself flow. Steady. Steady and strong as a river."_

Something behind her snapped and Arya whirled around, her knife at the ready. It clanged off of the blade of another man. His skin was tan and his hair dark. She recognized him immediately as Dornish. Was this one of the Martells.

He smiled glancing from their crossed blades to her face. "Did I startle you?"

"Obviously," Arya said. "You shouldn't move so quietly."

"An old habit, I'm afraid. Difficult to break," the man stepped back, lowering his knife. "Arya Stark, is it?"

"It is," Arya said.

"Soon to be Arya Lannister," the man said. "You must be eager for your coming wedding."

Arya's eyes narrowed slightly. "And who are you, exactly?"

"Ah, that's right," the man gave her a small bow. "Prince Oberyn Martell. A pleasure to meet you."

 _The younger brother of Dornan Martell,_ Arya thought. Yes, he must have come with Myrcella. Tywin had mentioned him to her before. The Martells and the Lannisters did not get along, but no Martell was more open about their hatred of lions than Prince Oberyn.

 _The Martells will be a diplomatic problem for you until Robert's Rebellion is no longer in living memory,_ Tywin had said. _Never underestimate the vipers._

"The pleasure is all mine," Arya lowered her knife but did not return it to its sheath on her arm. "Did you come looking for me, or are you going to pretend that this is a coincidental meeting?"

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Why couldn't be coincidence?"

"It could be," Arya said. "But I'm willing to bet you saw me enter the maze with Tommen and Myrcella. But you didn't venture inside until you knew I was alone. So...it's likely not coincidence."

"Well, who am I to deny it," Oberyn said. "Yes, I sought you out, Arya Stark. I'm curious about you. You've been a captive of the Lannisters for some time, and I wondered exactly how they treat their captives."

"Does my wellbeing interest you so much?" Arya asked. "I'm a Stark. I didn't think our families were on such good terms."

"On the contrary," Oberyn said. "We haven't had many dealings in the past few decades, but I had great respect for your father. He demanded justice for my sister Elia and her children. He was the only one who dared to stand up to Robert Baratheon and your captor, Tywin Lannister. It was a shame what happened to him."

"Yes. It was," Arya said. "It's a shame what happened to your sister. My condolences. I can't imagine if I lost my own."

"Lost. If only Elia was just lost," Oberyn said. "Do you know what happened to her? How she died? I'm not sure anyone told you the story. Not the kind of story you tell a young lady."

"I've read about it," Arya said.

"In a book written by a man loyal to the Baratheons and Lannisters no doubt," Oberyn said. "Who did they cast blame on in that book? The Mad King? Elia herself?"

"The book said it was unclear who had killed them," Arya said.

"Yes, but it was perfectly clear to me," Oberyn said. "I could give you details if you think you can stomach them."

 _I have seen men flayed living. I have seen men, women and children tortured at Harrenhal. I have lost my own fingers and saw my father lose his head. I can stomach any details you give me._

That was what she wanted to say, but she knew better than that. Instead she just nodded once. "Tell me then."

"She was raped near to death and split in half with a great sword. Her daughter was stabbed to death and her little boy smashed against the wall like an egg. That kind of brutal work...belonged to Ser Gregor Clegane. The Mountain."

 _The Mountain._

That was a man who Arya had not thought of for some time. He had been on her list ever since Harrenhal, but over the years she had nearly forgotten about his place on her list. Once the Boltons had entered her life, they had dominated her every vengeful thought.

"I've seen his work before," Arya said at last. "When I was a prisoner at Harrenhal. He is a monster of a man."

"And he works for a monster as well," Oberyn said. "If the Mountain killed Elia then Tywin Lannister gave the order."

Now Arya understood Oberyn's interest in her. He had a list just like her. A list of people he longed to kill. And Tywin and the Mountain were right at the top of it. She could not blame him for that. If anyone had done what he described to her sister, there was no force on earth that could have stopped her from killing them.

Oberyn came to her because in his mind, she was a Lannister captive, forced into marriage in order to keep her family in line. He hoped she might share his interests. Technically speaking, she did. The Mountain was on her list. And Lord Tywin...well she had never taken him off it, though it had been a very long time since she whispered his name into the dark. When had she stopped? She didn't remember exactly.

"If you're... asking me to confirm your suspicion, I don't have any proof or evidence to help you," Arya said at last.

"I'm not asking you to confirm anything," Oberyn said. "But since my sister faired rather poorly in Tywin's Lannister's hands, I did wonder how you faired. The daughter of the rebellious Starks very far away from the north..." He reached toward her. "I noticed more than one scar on your arms when your sleeves slipped-"

Arya caught his wrist before he could touch her, raising her blade again in the same instance. Her hand was trembling and she cursed herself for it, but everything about this encounter was dredging up bad memories. It was the way he focused on her, the tone of his voice, and the way the hedges around them seemed to close in too close for comfort. Just enough familiar things to make the fear grow.

"The Lannisters are not responsible for these scars," she said tightly. "The man who put them there is already dead. Now I need you...to back away."

Oberyn seemed to register not only her fury but her panic. He slipped his knife back in its sheath and raised a hand. "It's all right, Lady Arya. I have no intention of harming you." He had a gentle, smooth voice. "If I was going to harm any innocents to get to Tywin Lannister, Myrcella Baratheon would have been a much easier target."

"I know that," Arya said, taking a deep breath. She needed to control herself. "I need...to get out of this hedge maze. The walls are too close together. If...someone were to attack..."

 _Hard to dodge like this in close quarters, isn't it? Little wolf._

She shivered as she heard _his_ voice in her head, almost as if he was standing right next to her. This was a highly inconvenient time for her ordeal with the Bolton's to come back to haunt her.

"The exit to the maze is close." Oberyn carefully detached her grip from his wrist and instead extended his arm for her to take. "Come. You seem a bit light headed."

Arya would have refused the arm if he was not completely right. So she accepted and let him guide her from the maze. Once out into the open of the gardens, she could breathe easier again and she sank onto the nearest stone bench, looking up at the sky.

 _I'm fine. I am far away from that room. This place is safe._

"So the Lannisters are not responsible for the scars or your missing fingers then," Oberyn said. "Who was?"

"Ramsay...Bolton," Arya said. "I was his captive for a time."

"I heard some stories about that," Oberyn said. "Not many details though. I wouldn't force you to recall them here."

"Good. I want not tell you any of them if you asked," Arya said. "I apologize for pulling my knife on you. I am not usually so..."

"No need to explain," Oberyn said. "Your blade could not possibly worsen diplomacy between the Martells and the Lannisters."

Arya nodded once. Then, once she had regained her breath, she stood to face him again. "I am sorry again for what happened to your sister and her children. I am sympathetic to any vengeance you might want. Truly." She lifted her chin. "But I cannot help you. The Starks and the Lannisters are finally in a real peace after nearly six years. I'm not going to jeopardize that peace."

"I understand, of course. You and your family have been through quite a lot," Oberyn said. "And so often it falls to the women to keep the peace by giving themselves in marriage." He tilted his head to the side. "But tell me, Arya Stark. If you were in my position...and someone brutally murdered one of your siblings while you were hundreds of miles away and helpless to do anything at all...what would you do?"

 _I would kill them,_ Arya thought. _I would make them regret they were ever born._

But she did not say any of that. She simply forced a smile and gave Oberyn a polite nod. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Prince Oberyn." Then she left him and continued down the path, walking a bit quicker than normal.

She understood Oberyn's fury as well as anyone, of course. And since half of his fury was directed at the Mountain, she wondered if she could not convince Lord Tywin to hand the man over as a sort of peace offering. But the problem was...the other half of his anger went to Lord Tywin. Her captor.

Tywin had always been on her list, from the moment she knew he was fighting her brother all of those years ago. She hadn't thought of killing him for a long time, but still his name remained. And if Oberyn had approached her three years ago, perhaps she gladly would have plotted with him.

But...she could not allow Tywin Lannister to die yet. She still had much to learn from him. She was not ready to take over management of Casterly Rock with Jaime.

He...had to stay alive a bit longer. She wasn't sure how long. But she did not want him dead yet.

 _If you were in my position, what would you do?_ He had asked.

 _The same thing you wish to do, Prince Oberyn,_ she thought. _But if you come for him, I will have to stand in your way._

* * *

 _ **A/N: So begins the complicated dynamic between Oberyn. They will interact again obviously. But of course, even though I love Oberyn's character, I can't deny that his 'ness' would trigger Arya a bit. Not to mention at this point, Arya doesn't want Tywin dead. So...undoubtedly there's gonna be a bit of butting heads between these two. Yaaaay drama.**_

 _ **Welp, next time we'll get into the main wedding and of course we'll have many more fun character interactions. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	66. Chapter 66: The Wolf and the Rose

_**A/N: Oh boy, the chapter I have for you today is the LONGEST CHAPTER I've posted. It's over 6,000 words. You're welcome. And it's not even really because there's drama. There are just so many character interactions I wanted to write so...hope you all like character interactions! ENJOY!**_

 **Chapter 66: The Wolf and the Rose**

Afternoon melted into evening and the sun set slowly in the sky, casting the whole garden in shadows. At that time, all of the guests began to file into the sept. Arya sat near the front, beside her mother. It would, perhaps, make more sense for her to sit beside Jaime, as she was soon to marry him, but this was the last event where she would be able to define herself as a Stark and she wished to sit with her family. There was an open seat left for Robb on her mother's other side. He was to escort Sansa to her husband in place of their father.

At the front of the sept, Willas stood balancing just slightly on his cane. He was dressed in a rich green tunic with the rose of his family embroidered on the sleeves. In his hands, he held a cloak, stitched with that same rose. The cloak that would bring Sansa under the Tyrell name.

The doors at the back of the sept opened and everyone stood from their seats. Then, Sansa appeared.

She had always been such a beauty, but here, she was radiant beyond compare. Her dress was nearly white, with just hints of pale blue and green in the design at the hem. She wore flowers in her hair as well. In Arya's opinion, the flower theme of this wedding was a bit over wrought, but she could barely bring herself to complain. Sansa wore the look as if she was born to it.

She walked gracefully down the aisle, though when she drew close, Arya could see that she was clutching Robb's arm like a lifeline. The smallest trace of nervous energy was evident in the tightness of her jaw. But it was something only a sister would notice.

When she reached the steps, Robb gave her a smile and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then he let her step up to join Willas Tyrell. He smiled at her, reaching out to take her hand and guide her up the last of the steps. Sansa smiled in return.

The Septon spoke, though Arya would not remember any of the words he said. She was too busy watching her sister. Arya could see how much Willas pleased her. Her poor sister had once thought she would have to marry the man who killed their father. Having Willas instead must have felt like a sort of miracle after everything she had been through.

At the Septon's command, Willas cloaked Sansa with his family's colors. They spoke their vows together.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

Arya felt as if she was gazing into some sort of crystal ball. She knew that in a fortnight, she would stand in Sansa's place and Jaime would stand opposite her. The thought made her nervous. She would have to practice not showing any fear, especially in such a heavy dress.

She glanced across the aisle and caught Jaime's gaze. He gave her the smallest smile. One of sympathy and encouragement all at once. Arya turned back to look at Sansa just as Willas spoke the final words.

"With a kiss, I pledge my love."

Then he cupped Sansa's face in his hands, balancing for just a moment on his crippled legs, and kissed her short and sweet. The sept erupted into the expected applause and Arya joined them. Beside her, she noted tears streaming down her mother's face even as she smiled with pride. This was the wedding she had dreamed of for Sansa, no doubt.

Arya knew her own wedding was soon to come, and it was tempting to spend the night worrying over the future. But just for now, she would stay in the present and celebrate her sister's happiness.

For her family, happiness was sometimes hard to come by.

Following the ceremony was the grandest feast Arya had seen since the royal wedding. They had been feasting ever since breakfast, and Arya wondered if she could even stomach anymore, but one look at the incredible array of food, and she vowed that she would try _._

Sansa and Willas sat at the main table, along with both of their families. Arya had a seat of her own near the edge, right next to her brother. They were able to eat and truly talk for the first time since the both arrived.

"Any news from the wall?" Arya asked. "Are the wildlings giving them anymore trouble?"

"Some, but there hasn't been a large scale attack," Robb said. "We hear from Bran often. His letters come once every fortnight or at least every moon. He is enjoying his time at the wall. Mother wonders why he has not come home yet but...well she understands that he wishes to be away for a while."

"Of course," Arya said, though she wondered if Bran was truly the one sending the letters. He went north to go beyond the wall and she doubted he had strayed from that goal. Perhaps he had written letters in advance to be sent to their mother in order to keep her from worrying. Or perhaps Jon was forced to find someone to reliably copy their brother's handwriting. No...that seemed too dishonest for Jon. The former was more likely. "And Jon?"

"He's Lord Commander of the Night's watch," Robb said. "His men have put their trust in him. He's done very well for himself there."

"He has," Arya agreed. "He deserves the position. He's as honorable as father ever was."

"He always looked the most like him," Robb said. "So did you."

Arya smiled. "I used to wonder if I was a bastard too...since we looked so alike."

"I watched mother carry you for nine months and I was just outside the door when you were born," Robb said. "I can promise, you are not a bastard." He circled his finger along the rim of his glass. "Of course...the north is not fully healed. The property of the traitors has been divided up. But Jon keeps speaking of finding a different solution to the wildlings. He says they came south running from something and they wish to make peace with the north. But..." He shook his head. "But I can't possibly allow them beyond the wall. I only just got the north back under my control. That would shatter the peace again."

"Jon wouldn't suggest it unless he thought it was truly necessary," Arya said. "Perhaps you could at least let the women and children pass. Give the other wildlings the opportunity to join the Night's Watch. If there is a threat, they could use more soldiers and more people manning the wall."

"They could, but the Night Watchmen would not want to fight alongside wildlings," Robb said. "And who is to say the wildlings would not begin raiding just as soon as they cross."

"They might. But why are the wildlings any different than the Greyjoys?" Arya asked. "They raid and pillage. We made peace with them for a time."

"A short time," Robb said. "It didn't go well."

"All of the families in attendance have been at each other's throats at one point or another," Arya said. "The War of the Five Kings. Robert's Rebellion. The Blackfyre Rebellions. The Dance of Dragons. Everyone has been on different sides at some point and we've always made peace in the end." She shrugged. "It's not so odd that the wildlings would wish to do the same."

"No, perhaps not," Robb said.

"Besides, what has thousands of years of fighting them gotten the Night's Watch?" Arya asked. "Piles and piles of dead men. And until recently, the Night's watch had barely a hundred men. Jon told me himself." She sipped her wine. "The system doesn't seem sustainable to me."

Robb studied her. "I never took you as much of a student of politics, Arya."

"I've been reading more history." Arya shrugged. "I'm about to marry into the Lannisters. I'm just trying to avoid being eaten alive."

"Right," Robb said. "Well...I'll speak with Jon more about change once the north is more settled. When summer fades, then we can talk about sustainability."

Once Arya had finished her food, she rose to give her congratulations to Willas and Sansa. Her sister looked just a bit overwhelmed by having to talk with so many people and she gratefully reached out to grasp Arya's hand when she arrived. "At last, a familiar face. I'm not sure I'll be able to remember all of these names."

"You will," Arya said. "You were always quite a good student." She curtsied. "My sincerest congratulations to both of you." She looked to Willas. "Be sure to take care of her, or I will return to the Reach for you."

"I have no doubt," Willas smiled. "Enjoy the party, Lady Arya. When the line of people ebbs, we will try to find you again."

Once Arya had observed that courtesy, she retreated to the edge of the festivities. There were so many unfamiliar faces here and it was even harder to make them out by lantern light. She searched for someone who was not a stranger. Margaery and Tommen were sitting at the main table, greeting nearly as many people as Sansa and Willas. Myrcella was with Trystane, her intended groom, laughing at some joke. Oberyn stood near Myrcella in the company of a stunningly beautiful woman. She wondered if it was his wife. She had not heard anyone mention her before. They did make a beautiful couple.

Oberyn caught her gaze and gave her a sly sort of smile. Arya's jaw clenched just slightly. He had noticed her staring so quickly that she wondered if he had been watching her as well.

She was familiar with being watched, and it was not a good sort of familiarity. Unconsciously, she pressed her hand against her arm, feeling the shape of her knife against the fabric.

"You should be speaking with people. Not hiding in the shadows."

Arya jumped at the sound of Tywin's voice. She had not heard him approach and she had nearly lost her breath at his appearance. "I...I was just..."

His brow furrowed. He had noticed her flinch. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Arya said. She could hear the thinness of her own voice. "I was taking a break from talking."

"And now you're clearly startled," Tywin said. "What happened?"

"I wouldn't say anything...happened." Arya glanced back in the direction of Oberyn Martell. He was looking away from her again, back to enjoying conversation with his companion.

Tywin followed her gaze. "Oberyn Martell. Has he spoken with you?"

"Yes. Earlier today when I was in the hedge maze," Arya said. There was no point in lying to him. He would know if she did. "I wondered...what is the chance of him filling the roll of southern traitor."

"The chance of him hating me is very high," Tywin said. "The chance of him knowing to target you, or bartering with the Boltons and Freys, is very low. He would need an insider at court to give him the proper information. Which is not entirely impossible, but it's unlikely."

"I thought the same," Arya said. "I just...wondered."

"I wouldn't put it past him to be plotting some other treason. Just not that particular one," Tywin said. "Did he threaten you at all?"

"No," Arya said. "No, we only talked. It seems he blames you for a particular crime during the rebellion. You and the Mountain."

"Yes." Tywin sipped his wine. "I'm aware."

"Is he right to blame you?" Arya asked.

Tywin did not answer right away, and when he did, his tone was flat. "There is no way to tell exactly who killed Princess Elia and her children. The wounds could have been inflicted by any man. And if it was the Mountain, he has been known to get carried away."

So he was responsible. Arya had thought as much. This was the same man behind Castamere after all and the man who had planned to have her family killed a wedding. Why would he shy from killing a woman and two children?

"You should keep a close eye on your drinks tonight," Arya said at last. "I think if he had the chance, he would make use of them."

"Yes, I know. There's no need for concern."

"I'm not concerned," Arya said. "Just a statement of fact." She gave him a short curtsy. "Now, I'll go and talk to more strangers, as you requested, my lord."

She was lying to him. Both about the concern and the strangers. She only moved further into the shadows in order to escape the conversation. In truth, she was concerned. She shouldn't be. Tywin Lannister was her captor and a wretched man. The world might well be a better place without him. But she did not want him dead, even in the face of all the crimes he had committed.

 _Why,_ she wondered. _Why is that?_

She paced around in the shadows for a bit, until she noticed Oberyn and Varys talking in a secluded corner of the gardens. She had arrived just in time to see Oberyn give the eunuch a nod, then leave.

 _Unless he had an insider,_ she thought. Was Varys a possible insider? Did he have a reason to betray them? She had to admit, she had not much noticed Varys. He was always overshadowed by Lord Baelish' personality, and shortly after Littlefinger was executed, she had begun her quest to avoid Tywin like the plague because of their argument, which kept her well away from the political affairs of the court. Varys had never expressed any interest in her, but perhaps it was because she had not seen him when he saw her. He was not the Master of Whispers for nothing.

Arya set her jaw and approached the spider, trying to look as casual as possible. "Lord Varys. Enjoying the wedding?"

"Well enough," Varys said. "Your sister was radiant tonight. You must be very proud."

"I am," Arya said. "I always knew Sansa would have a beautiful wedding. She was made for it from the moment she was born."

"But not yourself?" Varys asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Let's say...it's been more of a process to prepare me," Arya said.

"No doubt," Varys said. "And what brings you here to this corner of the garden? I don't believe you've ever attempted to speak with me before, Lady Arya."

"Are you offended?" Arya asked. "You've never attempted to speak with me either."

"That is true enough, yes," Varys said. "Still, I sense some sort of purpose behind this."

"The purpose is that Lord Tywin told me I should talk to important people," Arya lied smoothly. "And since you're on the small council, you qualify."

"I'm honored, of course," Varys said. "But unconvinced that your approach has nothing to do with Prince Oberyn."

 _Damn, he's good,_ Arya thought. "The Martells also count as important people, but I hesitate to talk to them directly. They're not fond of the family I'm about to marry into."

"To put it lightly," Varys said.

"What was Prince Oberyn discussing with you?" Arya asked. "Anything interesting?"

"Oh yes, very interesting," Varys said. "He's curious about the Targaryen girl across the sea. The girl but more so her dragons. She has three of them, I'm sure you've heard."

Arya had heard that, though she was never sure if she believed it. "They're small, aren't they? The size of dogs?"

"Bigger every years. There are plenty of reports of the dragons carrying off whole herds of sheep. And it seems that she has taken up residence in Mereen as the queen of the city."

"How did she manage that?" Arya asked.

"The way most conquerors manage anything. A large army," Varys said. "The dragons helped her acquire it, or so I hear."

Arya frowned. When she was a child, she used to read of dragons with much delight. But her father told her that all the Targaryens were now gone and their dragons had been killed long before them. But this woman had an army and dragons-large enough to take a city like Meereen. If she turned her eyes on Westeros...

"Do you think she will cross the narrow sea?" Arya asked. "To press her claim for the throne, I mean."

"It is a good question," Varys said. "For now it seems she intends to stay in Meereen and rule. Perhaps she would rather play queen there than conquer an entirely new country."

Arya was unconvinced. "How many cities has she conquered thus far?"

"Three," Varys said.

"If she wasn't satisfied with the first, why should she be satisfied with the third?" Arya asked. "Does Lord Tywin know of this?"

"Of course," Varys said. "I've been keeping him updated on the situation in the east for quite some time, but he's barely had a moment to consider addressing a threat across the sea when there have been so many threats here."

"Right," Arya shook her head. "And...What did Oberyn want to know about the Targaryen woman?"

Varys' mouth quirked. "About the size of her dragons. What else? They say there is no sight more breathtaking than a dragon in flight and no one in Westeros has any living memory of them." He tilted his head to the side. "Tell me...if you saw a dragon fly above the capital, what would you do?"

Arya looked up at the sky. She had seen dragons in her dreams more than once, but the idea of seeing them in real life seemed so impossible. "Stare in wonder, I'm sure." She pulled at the fingers of her right hand. "Then pray."

If dragons did cross the sea, they would be no friend to the Starks or the Lannisters. Not after the rebellion. No matter how amazing a sight, the dragons could spell doom for everyone she cared for.

Throughout the night, the paranoia about Oberyn persisted. On one hand, logic told her that he could not be the traitor. He had a motive to strike at Tywin, but not the north. He couldn't have known that Arya was someone he could use against Tywin unless he had an insider in the court. He did not seem to mean Arya harm, or else he could have responded more aggressively to her drawing her blade.

But when she studied him from across the room, he often looked up and met her gaze, smiling back at her. Aware that he was being watched. Ramsay had done that same thing.

 _I am seeing a ghost,_ Arya thought. _And I am seeing him in the wrong faces._

* * *

This wedding was the first in some time when Jaime was not playing guard to a king. During Tommen's wedding, he had still been a King's Guard. Now he found himself searching for something to do. He made small talk with some of the lords and ladies he recognized and of course gave his congratulations to the bride and groom.

Sansa Stark looked rather content. Some women, on their wedding day, spent the whole night looking around like startled animals. Jaime didn't blame them. So many were forced into arrangements for the good of their families to ugly, foul tempered lords who happened to have a powerful name.

But Sansa did not look the slightest bit worried. When she spoke with her groom, they spoke in friendly tones and Willas seemed to play the gentleman well. Jaime supposed that after surviving a month in the crypts of Winterfell-and surviving so much more before that-marriage to the kindly first son of the Tyrells could not possibly scare the girl.

It was likely the first time in living memory that four Starks had been in the south at once. Even when Ned Stark road south, he brought only his daughters with him. Now, every surviving Stark, except for Robb's children and Bran, had come to the Reach. What a strange sight it was to see so many wolves in the garden.

Robb Stark looked well, but certainly aged. Surprisingly, he even made a point to talk to Jaime during the feast.

"How was Arya's journey south," he asked.

Jaime's mouth quirked. "A disaster. I've lost her and haven't been able to find her since." Robb gave him a look and he held up his hands. "Uneventful, Lord Stark, don't worry. Other than the occasional flooded road, we did not run into any obstacles."

"Good," Robb said. "You have my thanks for escorting her. I was tempted to send her with Stark men as well."

"You needed all the men you could get in the north," Jaime said. "How are the children?"

Robb blinked as if he was almost surprised to hear Jaime ask such a thing. "Nearly everyone has asked about the state of the north first."

"Well, I assumed that it was well enough, or you would not have come south. And politics has always rather bored me," Jaime said. "It's hard to lose a mother so young. I would know."

Robb looked down at his glass of wine. "They're...well enough. Ned asks about seeing her again often as if he hopes the answer will change. Lyanna and Ben...well it's almost as if it never happened. They're too young to understand what 'dead' means."

"I imagine," Jaime said. "I apologize. I don't mean to ask after fresh wounds at a wedding."

Robb shook his head. "Better than pretending the wounds aren't there. It's exhausting to be here, speaking with strangers."

"I wish you the best of luck with enduring it," Jaime said. "What about...your younger brother? Bran."

"Still at the wall, but fine from everything we have heard," Robb said. "He's doing well. I'm sure Arya will miss him coming south but it would have been a trial for him to travel so far in his condition."

"Yes...it must be very hard for him," Jaime managed.

He wasn't sure what made him ask after the boy, but he had thought of him more than once. Sometime she tried to forget that he had once shoved the child out a window to protect his secret with Cersei. He had meant to kill him and instead paralyzed him. It was a wretched act that he had confessed to no one.

And he knew...he knew if the boy ever got his memory back, it was only a matter of time before Arya found out. It was better to tell her himself but...

 _She would kill me,_ Jaime thought. _No matter the reason, how could she ever forgive me for that?_

He did not want Arya to hate him, and part of him hoped that the boy's memory of the incident would stay forever locked away.

"Well, the Starks have survived the winter again it seems," Jaime said at last. "I'm glad for it. And it will do you all well to have a bit of sun in your lives. You're all very pale." He clapped Robb on the shoulder. "Enjoy the wedding."

It really was strange how much Jaime's relationship with the Starks had evolved. He had hated Ned Stark and Ned Stark hated him in turn. Jaime resolved to hate all of his children as well, assuming that the man's rigid sense of honor would pass to them.

But he had worked closely with Robb, come to respect Catelyn, saved Bran's life when once he had nearly ended it. Defended the north alongside Stark loyalists. And Arya...

He had no idea how to define his relationship with Arya. It had been an enigma from the very beginning, but it had evolved into something unrecognizable.

The party began to filter inside and Jaime followed after them, though he resolved to keep toward the edges of the great hall and nurse his wine. On the way to the edges he nearly collided with a familiar face. Myrcella.

"Uncle, _there_ you are." She threw her arms around his neck and, bewildered, he hugged her back, almost dropping his glass in the process. "I've been searching for you all day but you're always just out of sight."

"I didn't...expect to see you." Jaime blinked hard. How on earth had no one informed him that his niece-his daughter-would be leaving Dorne? Or maybe the Dornish had not sent word.

Jaime pulled back to look down at her. She had grown in height and beauty since he last saw her, but she looked well. "Gods, how you've changed. It's been too long."

"You've changed too." Myrcella rested a hand on his golden one. "I could hardly believe it when I learned you lost your hand."

That's right. She had been gone even before that. It felt like a lifetime ago. "I've grown used to it. There's no need for concern." He set his wine glass aside, cupping her face with his good hand. "You look more like your mother every day. She will be sad she wasn't here to see you."

"I hope to visit her if I can," Myrcella said. "I miss her terribly."

"I suppose you would have to convince your Dornish escorts," Jaime said.

"Oh yes, speaking of which, have you met my betrothed? Trystanne, come here. Meet my Uncle Jaime."

A boy a few years older than Myrcella stepped forward, a slightly nervous smile on his face. "Ser. A pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine." Jaime clasped his hand in his. "I hope you've been looking after my niece while she has been away."

"Yes, ser," Trystanne said. "As best I can."

"He's been lovely, really," Myrcella said.

"Good. I wouldn't accept another answer." Jaime smiled just sharply enough for Trystanne to understand that if any harm ever came to Myrcella under his watch, he would have very serious words.

"I'm happy to be able to see Myrcella's home-especially since she has already seen so much of mine," Trystanne said. "And of course, your wedding. Congratulations."

"Ah, yes, congratulations. I spoke with Arya earlier today. She seems lovely," Myrcella said.

 _I imagine that was rather awkward for her,_ Jaime thought. He had only barely seen Arya during the wedding. He would have to find her later. "I am glad you approve." He glanced at Trystanne. "Was your father able to come north as well, or does his gout still ail him?"

Trystanne opened his mouth to respond, but someone else did before he could. "Unfortunately, he is still not well enough to travel. He sent me instead."

Jaime turned to see Oberyn approaching, swirling a glass of wine in hand. Jaime cursed inwardly. Of course he was here. Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, a man who hated Lannisters perhaps anyone else...intended to attend a Lannister wedding. Of course, Oberyn's ire was most directed at Jaime's father, but he had never liked Jaime much either. Jaime was a King's Guard and one of those that should have protected his sister and her children. He might have been there to do so if the Mad King had not been in need of a sword in his back.

Jaime didn't let himself appear distressed at all by the man's appearance. He simply smiled. "Prince Oberyn. I hadn't heard you were coming either."

"Would you have prepared yourself if you had?" Oberyn asked.

"Do I need to prepare myself for anything?" Jaime asked.

"No, no. Of course not." Oberyn glanced at Myrcella. "Your brother was asking for you child. Why don't you go find him?"

Myrcella nodded once, taking Trystanne's arm in hers and moving along. Trystanne seemed content to be led.

"Your niece is a lovely girl," Oberyn said. "Many of my daughters enjoy her company."

"I'm glad to hear it," Jaime said.

"She's only a year younger than your intended, isn't she? That must be odd for you," Oberyn said. "To be marrying so young a woman."

"There have certainly been odder unions," Jaime said. "Our match just happened to suit my father's purposes."

"So your bride told me," Oberyn said. "I spoke to her earlier today. She's an interesting girl. Very good with a knife."

Jaime's eyes narrowed. "How would you know that? Did you give her cause to use it?"

"She was already practicing when I arrived," Oberyn said. "And since both our throats are intact, I think you can assume it was perfectly cordial."

 _He was trying to question Arya on her hatred for Lannisters,_ Jaime thought. _Hoping to use her._

It did make sense. Oberyn learned a great deal about poisons in his time in Essos. He lived up well to his title of 'Red Viper', as his blades were often venomous. But if he ever wanted to poison Jaime's father, he would need someone close to the family to deliver that poison. Perhaps he hoped Arya would be his assassin.

Jaime felt his smile sharpen. "I'm glad to hear that. She's been through quite a lot recently. I would hate to think of anyone trying to harm her."

"Concerned for your future bride, are you?" Oberyn asked.

"Or for whoever gets in her way," Jaime replied. "As you said, she's quite good with a knife. She's just as adept with a sword."

"That's good to know," Oberyn smiled. "I think more women should be able to defend themselves when the need arises. Monsters kill soldiers and ladies all the same, don't they?" He gave Jaime a nod. "Enjoy the feast."

Jaime's jaw tightened at this. He didn't know if Oberyn had any designs on hurting Arya, but he had approached her alone. Arya would not have been wielding her knife otherwise. And when Oberyn mentioned it, Jaime had felt the sudden desire to smack him across the face with his golden hand.

He exhaled. Oberyn would not make a move that might put his country in danger. But he was one to watch. If you lost a snake in the grass, it could easily surprise you.

Jaime picked up his wine again and finished the glass in one gulp. Would his life never know any peace?

* * *

As the night wore on, Arya began to settle again. She forced herself to stop watching Oberyn and instead focused on being amongst her family. She talked to strangers as well-just as Lord Tywin wished-but only when they approached her first.

She was just starting to feel settled when they called for the bedding.

At once, lords and ladies surged forward on the married couple, lifting them into the air. Well, the lords lifted Sansa and the ladies mostly crowded Willas and pushed him along. Everyone around them laughed and clapped, as was expected. Even Sansa, though she looked a bit nervous, was chuckling along with all of them.

Arya was not laughing. Standing at the edge of the room, she suddenly felt her blood run cold and her stomach began to twist. She knew of the custom of the bedding. Of course she did. It was a tradition that ensured that the bride and groom consummate their marriage. But she had never thought of being the centerpiece of the event.

She watched her sister being carried away by several lords while they stripped away her wedding dress and she suddenly realized she might have to endure the same. To have so many strangers put their hands on her. Her world spun and she swayed for a moment. She may have even fallen had a hand not settled on her arm, steadying her.

"Arya." It was Jaime's voice she heard in her ear, soft and concerned. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, wordlessly.

"You should sit down. You're pale."

"There's..." Arya swallowed thickly. "Too many people here."

"Right," Jaime said. "I think some fresh air would do you well."

Arya was barely aware of Jaime escorting her swiftly from the hall. In fact, she didn't regain control of her senses until she was sitting on a cool marble bench. She turned her face to the sky, focusing on the stars high above. It was a very clear night and she was grateful for it. She breathed in the crisp air, letting it soothe her nerves.

"Better?" Jaime asked, sitting down beside her.

Arya nodded once. "Yes. Thank you for not letting me collapse in front of so many people. I couldn't have lived with myself."

"Well, it would hardly be the worst thing you've survived," Jaime's mouth quirked. "What made you suddenly so ill?"

Arya shrugged, looking away from him. "I'm not sure. It just happened."

"That was a trick question. I already know the answer, I was just trying to see if you would admit it," Jaime said. "You're thinking of having to endure your own bedding ceremony."

Arya puffed a strand of hair from her face. Damn him. "Perhaps."

"Right. And if you were _perhaps_ thinking of that, what worries you?" Jaime asked.

"Well...mostly that...if a bunch of strangers try to disrobe me, I am going to have to stab at least one of them in the eye." Arya shrugged. "It won't be intentional, but it will happen. Reflexively."

"And what if you can't get to your knife?" Jaime asked.

"Then I'll bite a man's ear off. I'm very resourceful. I'll find some way to do harm to at least one of the lords and that will be very bad for diplomacy." Arya picked at stitches of her dress. "You understand."

"It would be bad for diplomacy," Jaime agreed. "The bedding isn't required though. You may be able to convince my father to forgo it. You're well practiced at convincing him of things." He shrugged. "Not to mention I'm sure _he_ will also want to avoid you stabbing out anyone's eye."

"I suppose he would, wouldn't he?" Arya asked. She shifted nervously on her bench. "And you?"

"I would also like you to avoid stabbing out any eyes."

"No, I mean..." Arya bit the inside of her cheek. "Is anything about our upcoming wedding making you dizzy...or is it just me?"

Jaime was silent for a long moment as he tried to gather his thoughts. "I wouldn't say its making be dizzy. Most days it doesn't even seem real. I was never meant to marry. I ensured that from the moment I put on the white cloak. Back then, I guess I thought I could avoid my father's rules. I really was naïve." He rubbed a hand behind his neck. "I wasn't supposed to have a wife. It was supposed to be and my sword and..." He trailed off.

"And Cersei," Arya finished for him.

Jaime exhaled. "Yes. And Cersei. I know you don't like her. I would never expect you to see any sort of good in her. And yes...so much of what made her good once has been burned away. But we were always together. I never wanted anyone else."

Arya nodded once. They were both unwilling participants in this marriage. Jaime only wanted Cersei. And Arya...well she had never much wanted anyone in that way.

"There are so many things that are...odd about this match," Jaime said. "The years between us, our family names, the circumstances."

"The list goes on and on," Arya agreed.

"But I do..." Jaime shook his head as if trying to put the words in the right order. "I do care about you, Arya. I don't know how else to define it. I prefer you smiling to frowning. So whatever I can do to make all of...this more bearable for you. I will try."

Arya gave him a sad smile. "I'll try to be bearable for you as well then." She turned away, looking out into the night. "I care about you too. I tried so hard not to. I didn't want to care about one single Lannister. Tyrion broke me first. Then you. But Tyrion has been gone for such a long time."

"He has," Jaime said. "It was father sending him away that forced us into this match."

"Yes, but let's keep the blame squarely on your father," Arya said.

Jaime grinned. "Deal."

For a long time, they didn't speak. They sat side by side, staring out into the darkness of the garden while the sounds of the party echoed faintly behind them. Then, Jaime spoke again.

"Arya...at Winterfell. The first time I went there..." He trailed off. He had done that a lot during this conversation but this time he seemed particularly troubled. As if he was trying to choke out a secret that he hadn't told anyone. "Years ago, when we all came with King Robert... there's something that..."

Arya's brow furrowed. "What is it?"

He looked back at her, holding her gaze for quite a long time. Then his shoulders fell and he let out a long, aching sigh. "Hard to believe so much time has passed, isn't it?"

"Yes," Arya said, and though she had a sneaking suspicion that he had meant to say something else, she did not want to press him. Not tonight at least. "Hard to believe."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Lots of drama in this chapter, but lots of fun stuff, and of course everyone's dose of Arya and Jaime interactions which you guys apparently missed last time lol. Hope you enjoyed!**_

 _ **Also, I've been trying to be better about replying to reviews, but since some of you send anonymous reviews or have PMs turned off, I thought I would answer them here. If, for whatever reason, you absolutely do not want me to ever respond to your reviews, you can always let me know and I won't be offended :)**_

 _ **Morgan-**_ **I agree that Myrcella and Tommen deserved better and Cat and Tywin totes should have had a convo in canon because I LOVE those two actors. As for Oberyn, like, I agree with you. He is morally ENTIRELY in the right in this situation. The whole Elia thing was one of the more despicable things that Tywin has done even if he is able to justify it as 'necessary'. Unfortunately, it's personal for Arya right now so she finds herself in a moral quandary. Also lol, I think I have created a monster by giving people the image of being thrown down the stairs. We'll see if it happens ;)**

 **Marshmellowsme-** **Yep it seems you're right in line with Arya's moral quandary at the moment! Which is generally the feeling I want people to have. Because objectively, Oberyn is in the right. But subjectively I've spent the last sixty chapters focusing on Tywin and Arya's dynamic so...complications, complications. Thanks for your review!**

 **GimpyMcgee-** **Wow, thank you so much for your praise! I'm sorry about your fall and I wish you a speedy recovery, but I'm glad this story has been able to entertain you** **J No comment is insufficient, I treasure all of them and thank you so much for your kind words!**

 **FuryJoe- Thank you so much!**

 **Alright, thank you everyone. You all have gotten me beyond 300,000 hits which is three times what I've ever gotten on any other fic. I so appreciate the support! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**


	67. Chapter 67: Heavy Secrets

_**A/N: And we're back. My spring break is at its end but I'm still coming at you with a pretty lengthy chapter, full of CHARACTER moments and INTERNAL DILEMMAS. Woot. Hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 67: Heavy Secrets**

With the wedding at its end, one by one the crowds began to filter away from Highgarden and toward their homes or King's Landing for the next wedding. Tywin left almost immediately the next morning, along with King Tommen and Queen Margaery, to return to the capitol. They could only leave business unattended there for so long, after all.

Arya and her family lingered for another day, eating more of the seemingly never ending supply of food, before leaving the next morning, following the Rose Road. Sansa was to stay another few days before riding with her new husband to join them. Arya enjoyed riding back with her mother and brother. She asked many more questions about the state of the north, as well as the wellbeing of the children. She told Robb some of what she had learned about the west as well. This new alliance between the Starks and Lannisters could provide the north with some much needed resources, which would be needed in the aftermath of such a rebellion.

Sometimes she raced ahead of them all, urging her horse into the fastest of gallops. The open country was perfect for such riding, though Robb warned her not to break her neck before the wedding.

"That's one way to continue to put it off," Arya pointed out. "I can't very well wed with a broken neck."

"Can't very well live either," Robb replied.

More than anything, Arya treasured what time she had left with her family as a Stark. Each day that passed, she grew closer to the name Lannister and a cloak of red and gold about her shoulders.

Soon enough, the Red Keep came into view and Arya was back in its shadow. As they passed through the mud gate, Arya noted that it was the first time in a long while that so many Starks had entered the city. The last time, she and Sansa had been traveling with her father, long before they knew the true horrors of war and politics.

Preparations for the wedding were already under way. The King's Landing gardens, while not as lavish as those of High Garden, were still the ideal place for a feast. There were banners and tapestries sewn with both wolves and lions in the design. What a surreal thing it was to see them together.

Two days after their arrival, and on the same morning that Sansa came to King's Landing, Arya tried on the final version of her wedding dress in case it needed any last minute changes. It was nearly pure white with both golden and silver designs stitched all the way up the skirt. A beauty to behold, perhaps, but it was the heaviest item of clothing Arya had ever worn in her life.

"How am I supposed to walk in this without tripping over the hem?" Arya asked as she studied her reflection. "And who decided that wedding dresses should be so difficult to move in? Is it to keep the bride from running?"

"The elaborate dress is to bring attention to the bride," her mother said from her seat. "But the fancier the dress becomes...the more extensive the fabric."

"I would marry in breaches if they let me," Arya muttered.

"No doubt," Sansa said. She was standing just behind Arya, peering at her reflection over her shoulder. "But it's only for a day. Then you never have to wear such a heavy dress again."

"Well, there's plenty of room up my sleeves for knives at least." Arya sighed.

"How many knives do you really need at your wedding?" Catelyn asked.

"Two at least. But I think I can fit four just in case," Arya said.

"That seems fair," Sansa said. "One for each assassination attempt you've been caught in the middle of."

"I was only caught in the middle of two," Arya said. "And I was the subject of one if we count Joffrey's early attack on me."

"Oh is that all?" Sansa played with Arya's hair a bit. It had grown to the middle of Arya's back now and she planned to chop several inches off just as soon as the wedding was at its end. It was beginning to annoy her. "We can count your kidnapping as a fourth time."

"Sounds fair enough," Arya said.

"I can only hope that you will have less near death experiences after this wedding," her mother sighed. "You're marrying a Lannister. Most people are hesitant to challenge the Lannisters because of Lord Tywin."

"True. But those who are brave enough to challenge them are often more dangerous," Arya said. When she caught sight of her mother's worried expression in the mirror, she smiled and turned. "It's fine. I'm sure things will calm down for a while."

She was not sure of that. She was very far from sure of that. With the Martells perhaps plotting vengeance on the Lannisters and Daenerys Targaryen and her three dragons still conquering across the sea, there were all too many threats that could disturb this new peace. But hopefully those threats would focus on the south and let the north alone for a bit.

Her mother smiled sadly and stood from her seat, pacing over to her. She lifted her hand, cupping Arya's left cheek. She felt her thumb swipe across the scar Ramsay put there when he hurled Needle at her.

"Does the maester say this one will be permanent?" she asked.

"It's too soon to tell," Arya said. "It won't be very visible in a few years' time."

"It's barely visible now," Sansa said. "I know you don't like the dress, Arya, but it looks very beautiful." Her sister rested a hand on her upper arm. "You look beautiful."

Arya smiled. "Well, I won't match you on your wedding."

"Since when is it a contest?" Sansa asked.

"It's not," Catelyn said. "You're both beautiful and that's that." She smoothed down her skirts. "I'll fetch the handmaidens back. They wanted to experiment with Arya's hair before the day."

Arya made a small, disgruntled noise in the back of her throat as her mother left the room. For a moment, she and her sister were silent. Then she cautiously glanced up at her. "I'm sorry I wasn't...nearby during the bedding."

Sansa shook her head. "To be honest, I had no idea who was around me. It was such a rush of movement."

"I saw it from afar," Arya shifted from foot to foot. "Were you nervous at all?"

"Of course I was," Sansa said. "I was laughing because that was all I could really do. But no one was too forward with me."

Arya nodded once. "And afterwards?"

"Afterwards? Willas was very kind," Sansa said. "It really wasn't as terrible as I thought, but I spent so many nights dreading my wedding night with Joffrey, I suppose anything was better by comparison."

"Anything would be," Arya said softly.

Sansa took Arya's hands in hers, holding them tight. "You'll be all right, Arya. You've survived so much these past few years. A wedding won't be anything terrible. Besides, your almost husband seems to care a great deal for your wellbeing."

"He does," Arya said. "But even still..."

"Even still," Sansa agreed. "It's quite a world women endure, isn't it?"

Arya nodded. It really was. Perhaps every woman she had ever known had gone through this same event. Arya had always hoped to somehow avoid it. But now as it bore down on her, she knew she could no longer escape it.

 _I will endure it, and I will be strong,_ Arya thought. _And if I ever have a daughter I will never force her into marriage. And who will argue with a wolf in a lion's skin?_

* * *

Arya knew she could not endure the bedding. She knew it in her gut and soul. Jaime alone was fine, but a hoard of strangers would be absolutely intolerable. She had no choice but to go to Tywin and she spent the entire walk to his tower trying to come up with some logical excuse that would not betray her fear.

When she arrived, he was reading over some letters, not writing them for once. He glanced up once when he noticed her hovering in the doorway. "I assume you have not come to study since you usually just walk right in."

"Ah, no. I just had a question," Arya said.

"Ask it then," Tywin replied, with his ever disinterested tone.

"When I think about hellish situations, the bedding ceremony is one of the first things that comes to mind right now," Arya said. "I witnessed it at Sansa's wedding. Far too many people involved. I really don't know why it's a custom in the first place."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't a question."

Arya's jaw clenched. "You know what my question is."

Tywin set down his stack of letters and looked up at her. "You want to know if you can avoid the bedding ceremony and you're hoping that I will make some excuse for you. Do you have a compelling reason as to why I should?"

"So that I don't accidentally stab someone in the hand?" Arya said. "That doesn't seem like a great end to a day of celebration."

"I could make sure you don't have any knives."

"You'd never be able to find them all." Arya crossed her arms. "What is the point of being the ward of one of Tywin Lannister if I can't have this small thing?"

"I'm reasonably sure the point is for me to profit off of you. You don't _need_ to get anything out of the arrangement."

"I'm asking nicely, aren't I?"

"If I was moved by niceties, the Lannister name would never have become what it was."

Arya raised her chin. "Well, if you don't agree, I could always make an awful scene at the wedding. Something drunken and violent. I've never been drunk, but this seems like a fantastic time to start."

Tywin didn't reply but she could see the smallest spark of amusement in his eyes. She never would have gotten away with this kind of talk years ago, but he wasn't so easily angered by her words any more. "You're lifting your chin again."

Arya lowered her head quickly, inwardly cursing herself.

Tywin steepled his fingers together, further considering the proposal. "It's an old tradition, though not one I've ever been particularly fond of. It invites too many foul jokes from those who don't have the right to make them. If you were to...fall ill for some reason, it would be simple enough to cancel the event."

Arya released a breath. "Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me. I foresaw this. I noticed you swaying at your sister's wedding same as Jaime did."

Arya felt the heat of shame rise to her cheeks. She had hoped nobody at all had noticed, but now she was left wondering if anyone else had.

"The bedding ceremony is relatively frivolous. The consummation of the wedding less so," Tywin continued on. "But there are other ways to provide proof of that. I assume you will."

Arya nodded once. "Yes. I will."

"Good. Then we need not discuss the matter any further," Tywin said. "Meanwhile, you ought to stay and study. Just because your wedding is in a few days does not give you an excuse to become lazy in your efforts."

"I haven't been lazy," Arya stalked past his desk and plucked a book from the shelf. She had been two thirds of the way through this one before they left for High Garden. "I've been busy."

"You'll be busy for the rest of your life," Tywin said. "That's not an excuse either."

Arya sighed and settled herself in a corner. She was actually glad to be here instead of elsewhere. She could avoid any further experiments with her hair style. "Yes, yes, as you say."

* * *

The day before her wedding, Arya was doing everything possible to avoid thinking about it, which meant she was also aggressively avoiding everyone she knew-especially Starks and Lannisters. It was a risk to go to her usual practice spot since Jaime often frequented that same place, but she was in desperate need to practice and work off her nervous energy. She wished that it was one of Syrio's days to teach her. Water dancing had a way of calming her mind.

However, when she arrived, she found not Jaime practicing, or Syrio lecturing her on being late but a familiar Dornish face. Oberyn Martell stood in the middle of the room, twirling a staff expertly in his hands. For a moment, Arya was transfixed by the way it moved about his arms and shoulders, fluid as water.

He stopped when he faced her, letting the end of the spear barely tap against the ground.

"Arya Stark," he said. "I suppose this is the last day I can call you that, isn't it?"

"How did you find this place?" Arya asked. "And don't claim you just wandered here."

"I didn't," Oberyn said. "Lord Varys told me that this is where you practice."

 _Of course he would know,_ Arya thought bitterly. _He knows everything without me even having to speak to him._

"I hoped you might come," Oberyn continued. "I hear you have some skill with a sword."

"And you have some skill with a spear," Arya paced around him, her eyes slightly narrowed. "What does my skill matter to you?"

"Oh, it doesn't. But I am in need of something to fill the time. Walking these halls fills me with fury." He mirrored her pace and Arya quickly realized they were circling each other. "And when I am furious, I fight."

"Did you come to fight me?" Arya asked.

"Spar with you," Oberyn said. "As you can see, my spear is sitting in the corner. This staff here has no sharp end in sight."

"I've seen my teacher do quite a bit with a dull weapon," Arya said.

"Ah yes, your teacher," Oberyn said. "A first sword of Bravos and a water dancer, yes? I've learned some of the style."

For a moment Arya's guard dropped and her eyes widened slightly. "You have?"

His mouth twitched as he seemed to recognize that he had found one of her interests. "Yes. I've traveled to Bravos more than once, along with many other great cities in Essos. I've learned many fighting styles on my travels but water dancing is particularly suited to fighting with a spear. It requires quick, precise movements." He spun his staff twice about his arm. "It is far different from the knight's sword."

"I have not fought much with the spear. I would not know." Arya paused in her pacing, turning needle twice in hand. "But I do know water dancing. I've been practicing as often as time allows me. I wonder how our knowledge compares."

"As do I," Oberyn said. "Pick up that wooden sword behind you and we'll see."

It was a challenge and Arya had never in her life backed down from such a challenge. She set needle aside and picked up her wooden sparring sword, then she settled into a relaxed stance, holding her sword behind her back, just as Syrio always did when she first entered the room.

Oberyn stabbed forward with his staff and Arya easily sidestepped the jab. He performed the same move again, twice in quick succession. She dodged the first and brushed the second aside with a quick flick of her practice sword. She raised an eyebrow. He was testing her, she could tell. Seeing just how quickly and well she moved...wondering how adept she truly was.

"If nothing else, you are quick," he noted.

"I assure you, there's something else," Arya said. She spun her sword in hand and swiped out at his legs, forcing him to back away. He grinned.

"Going for the legs...I suppose you are quite small."

Arya's eyes narrowed and she struck out at him again. He parried her blows, spinning around her, fluid as water. When the butt of his staff threatened to crack across her head, she bent backwards to avoid it, striking at his side at the same moment. He dodged that as well.

It was an exhilarating feeling. Arya learned from Syrio, but she knew she would never be close to his level. He knew all of her tells too well. And while she practiced with Jaime, they had distinctly different styles. This felt almost like fighting an equal-and though she couldn't tell if Oberyn was holding back or not-it was a welcome change.

Soon enough they were no longer testing each other. They were flowing in and out of each other's currents, breaking against each other like water on rock. They were dancing through the patches of late afternoon sunlight, and Arya felt her suspicion turn to elation between the clacks of their wooden weapons.

* * *

Jaime was not surprised to find Arya in her usual practice space, but he was surprised to see her dancing about Oberyn Martell. Even more than that, he was surprised to see her grinning from ear to ear.

Her lessons with Syrio had really done her well-as had her intense drive to improve her swordplay. She was keeping pace with the Red Viper of Dorne and he seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as her.

 _Is he trying to get her to drop her guard?_ Jaime wondered. But then, if he wanted to harm Arya, there were easier ways.

When Arya turned around Oberyn again, she noticed Jaime. She broke away from the dance, her breathing labored. "Jaime. I didn't hear you come in."

"Hard to hear over the sparring I imagine," he said.

"You said your bride to be was good with a sword. I wanted to see if it was true," Oberyn said.

"I see," Jaime said. "Well, don't let me interrupt."

"Did you need something?" Arya asked.

"No. Nothing that can't wait," Jaime said quickly. "I'll just sit here while you finish."

Arya nodded once, smiling at the fact that she could continue this sparring match. Moments later, she and Oberyn were dancing again.

Indeed, Jaime wasn't sure what his purpose was in coming here. Maybe it was to spar. Maybe it was to talk.

 _Talk about what? Her brother I almost killed?_

That matter was nearly constantly on his mind these days. The boy who he had so long ago shoved out of a tower was once easily buried in the depths of his memory. Now he lingered on the edge of his consciousness.

 _You need to tell her eventually._

 _It's not the right time._

There was no right time. Jaime could see that as Oberyn and Arya returned to sparring. If he told Arya now, the wedding the next day would be utterly miserable for her. And with Oberyn circling closer to her like a vulture, knowing that Jaime so nearly killed her brother could push her to aid him in his revenge. And if he told her after their marriage-one year, two years, three years down the line-she would be trapped in a match with her brother's near killer and she would be miserable again.

There had never been a right time. When they first met, Jaime could not tell her because he did not trust her with that information and she had been nothing to him. After she saved his life, telling her the truth would have only made her kill him again. He could not possibly tell her in the north surrounded by Starks. And after they left the north...well she was still recovering from her time as a hostage. How could he add any more weight onto her shoulders?

But was that really the reason he had kept the secret for so long? Was it for her benefit? Was it to be kind? Or was it simply because he was trying to protect himself.

 _Am I so much of a coward?_

Yes, probably. The same coward who had stood silently by and watched Aerys burn people alive. The same coward who had returned to Cersei's bed time and time again though part of him knew he shouldn't-because he needed something familiar. The same coward who had pushed a ten year old boy out a window because he worried that he might tell about their affair.

He had reasons for it all and always had.

He would have died without purpose if he stood up to Aerys.

The Targaryens wed brother and sister for years, so how could he and Cersei be wrong?

If the boy told, his sister and all three of their children would lose their heads.

If he told Arya now, it would be like stabbing her in the chest and it could completely dissolve the hard won peace between the Starks and the Lannisters.

But beneath all of those reasons, he wondered...was every decision he made just for himself in the end?

 _It wasn't the right time. It's not the right time now. It may never be the right time,_ Jaime thought, and the thought made him hate himself all the more.

* * *

Arya could not sleep, and instead of her bed, she found herself in the gardens. The night was dark but the moon was full and cast the setting of the next day's feast in a pale white light. She was content to walk amongst the well-manicured hedges, enjoying the silence.

As she walked, she twirled needle in her hand, keeping it close just in case she met with some unsavory attacker. But nothing stirred in the garden. Only the occasional owl hooted in the night.

From down here, she could see the balcony of her practice room. She had thought of going there, but she did not want to practice tonight. She had gotten her fair share of that. Really she just wanted to...enjoy the quiet. Her room was too cramped and stifling. The garden was better.

She stared up at the balcony a moment longer and was surprised to see something move there. She blinked to clear her vision and saw that Jaime was leaning there, scanning the garden in the darkness. After a moment, his gaze caught hers. He lifted his golden hand in a wave and she waved back.

Moments later he disappeared from the balcony and somehow, Arya knew he would soon be making his way to the gardens. She wondered if she should make it difficult for him to find her. It would be easy enough to lose him in the hedges.

But no...she actually wouldn't mind his company for a bit.

Sometime later, she saw his shadow pass through the garden and she glanced up to see him approaching.

"I hope you're not awake with jealousy because I sparred with Oberyn," Arya said dryly

Jaime laughed once. "Hardly. I just think you should remain wary of him."

"I am wary of him. Sparring doesn't change that." Arya shrugged. "Do you think I could be converted me to his side so easily?"

"To be fair, his side is probably the right one. Objectively I mean," Jaime said.

"Objectively, yes," Arya agreed. She leaned up against one of the garden walls, staring out into the night. "So...you couldn't sleep either."

"No," Jaime said. "I'm surprised I didn't find you in your practice room."

"I decided to mix things up a bit. If someone wants to assassinate me, that's the first place they'll look."

"Very true. I'm sorry for doubting you."

Arya's mouth twitched. "It's fine." She rested her chin on her hands. "I've talked more with Myrcella since returning. I think she likes me. It's very strange though considering she's so close to my age and she's your...niece."

"And daughter," Jaime said. "You can say it here. There's no one else around."

"They say there are eyes all over King's Landing," Arya said.

"Then the owner of those eyes probably knew about Cersei and I long ago," Jaime said. "I imagine it is strange for you. Myrcella is a sweet girl. Her and Tommen both...good children from the time they were born. I've always loved them dearly."

"And Joffrey?" Arya murmured without thinking about it. "Did you love him?"

Jaime didn't reply for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "At the start. Maybe even at the end. When he died I did grieve, though maybe it was because Cersei was grieving." He shook his head. "No...it wasn't only her grief. He wasn't bad from the beginning. And he was...my first son." He laughed once. "That's why I always knew Tyrion didn't kill him. He wouldn't kill my son. He wouldn't kill Cersei's son no matter how much they fought."

 _No, he wouldn't,_ Arya thought. _Unless he had to perhaps. I killed him because I had to and Tyrion was blamed for it._

Part of her knew she should tell Jaime about that. She had not told anyone except Tywin but if Jaime was to be her husband...

"Joffrey's death was when I lost Cersei. Truly lost her," Jaime continued talking. "It sent her past the point of no return. Tommen says she sounds better in her letters but I think she's only pretending. She'll never be quite as she was. Maybe I mourned just as much for her as I did for Joffrey."

"Would you...rather him be alive again?" Arya asked.

"I don't know," Jaime said. "It doesn't matter what I want. It's over with." He glanced down at her. "Joffrey is a rather odd topic for the night before our wedding."

Arya shook her head. _I can't tell him,_ she decided. _Not yet, at least. This isn't the right time._ "You're right. Sorry. My mind is just wandering."

Jaime leaned against the wall next to her, a melancholy smile on his face. "As is mine."

 _The key to a happy marriage is lies._ That was what Jaime had said when they were still in the north. It had been a joke at the time, but she wondered if it was the truth after all. After all, it wasn't just that she killed Joffrey. It was that she sent his sister and first loved into a spiral of drunken madness and his brother was sent away as a scapegoat to protect her. She was, in some way, responsible for breaking apart his family, even if that wasn't her intention.

 _He doesn't need to know,_ Arya thought. _It's just easier that way._

And right now, she just wanted things to be...easy.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Alright, next chapter is the actual wedding I have been putting off for ages. And shortly after that we are diving headfirst into the Cersei plot. Cause you've all had enough break right ;)**_

 _ **I'm behind on answering reviews but here at least are the answers to my anons:**_

 _ **Guest: Oh my god your mini Arya and Varys dialogue made me laugh out loud! I must say I understand not wanting Jaime and Arya's relationship to get worse, especially since its going pretty well now. They've obviously both got big secrets from each other. We'll have to see how it plays out.**_

 _ **Marshmellowsme: You are so kind and I thank you so much for the lovely review. Glad you liked Jaime and Robb's convo last chapter :)**_

 _ **Morgan: You have, indeed, been addressed! Yeah, it wouldn't be realisitic if I completely ignored the Bran thing. It's one of those things that had to have conflict eventually in the story but I was waiting for the right time to start adding it in. Thanks for your review!**_

 _ **Halofan117Arbite: I think I answered one of your questions in this chapter. They will be marrying next chapter! As for Daenerys, you're right, things aren't going to be immediately amicable between Arya and Dany. I mean...for all Arya knows, Dany is a threat to everyone she loves. But we shall see!**_

 _ **Andi: I think most people can agree with that!**_

 _ **Wrighteuse: Thank you!**_

 _ **Alright that's it for now. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	68. Chapter 68: The Lion and the Wolf part 1

_**A/N: Man, I cut it really, really close this chapter and I am exhausted. I've been up since 5:30 trying to finish it on time lol. I wanted to get you guys the whole wedding but...as per usual...it takes more words to write things than anticipated. So enjoy part one!**_

 **Chapter 68: The Lion and the Wolf (part 1)**

Arya watched the sunrise from the gardens that morning long after Jaime had departed to get some sleep. He had made her promise to do the same, but it was a promise she had never intended to keep. She watched red flash across the darkness like fire breaking through the clouds and listened to the birds chirping, as if to greet the morning. She watched as the sky changed from black to crimson to orange to pink.

It was her last sunrise as a Stark. When the sun went down again, everyone would see her as a Lannister.

 _New dawn. New beginnings,_ she thought absently. She lingered in the stillness of the dawn for a few more moments. Then, when the blue of the sky became clear, she stood and wound her way back toward the castle to pretend she had gotten some sleep.

This was going to be quite a day.

* * *

Jaime had slept maybe a few hours the previous night and now he found himself dressed as a groom, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out if he was dreaming or not. The deep red and gold of his tunic marked him as the heir to House Lannister. This was exactly as his father had wanted to see him for so many years. And sooner or later, Tywin Lannister always got what he wanted.

Jaime could see his father's reflection in the mirror behind him. He hadn't heard him enter, and it struck Jaime that maybe staying up half the night was not a good way to prepare for a wedding. He could only hope that Arya had managed some sleep or they might both forget their vows in front of the crowd.

Jaime adjusted his golden hand as he turned to face his father. "Well...everything you ever hoped for?"

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"You've been scheming about this day for quite some time," Jaime smiled bitterly. He knew he was only talking like this due to lack of sleep. This wasn't exactly the time to pick a fight. "Its many years in the making."

"It has," Tywin said. "It may have happened sooner if not for you."

"Well, I hope we're not blaming my bride's kidnapping on me again."

"I meant you joining the King's Guard," Tywin said flatly.

"Ah yes," Jaime said. "Well it all worked out for the best, didn't it? If I didn't join the King's Guard then you couldn't have married Arya into the family."

Tywin did not reply for a long moment. Jaime expected him to deny it. To say that Arya only happened to be in the right position, with the right family name. But ultimately he didn't bother. "Are you dissatisfied with your bride?"

"This has nothing to do with her," Jaime said.

"No. Just with me," Tywin said. "You've been fighting me for so many years. What was the point of it all?"

Jaime smiled bitterly, shaking his head. "Having my own life I suppose."

"You're a Lannister," Tywin said. "You don't get the privilege of your own life. Your life belongs to the family."

"Belongs to you, you mean," Jaime muttered. "Did it ever occur to you... that you named the wrong child as your heir? I'm not like you. I never have been and you've always known it. You _must_ have known it."

"You're still my son," Tywin said.

"That's not enough. I will _never_ be able to replace you!"

For a long time, a silence hung between them. It was a fear of Jaime's for so long. He didn't want to succeed his father but maybe that was because he knew he would never do the role justice. Tyrion could have. Even Cersei had a better chance. But not him. Never him.

"I did not ask you to replace me. Only continue my legacy," Tywin said at last. "And you won't be alone in that."

No. He wouldn't be. Arya would be standing next to him through it all, whether she liked it or not. Jaime turned away from his father facing the mirror again.

"You never asked me my reasoning," Tywin said.

Jaime's brow furrowed. "What?"

"My reason for betrothing you to Arya. Do you know what it was?"

Jaime blinked. "I assumed...the official reason was to bind the Lannisters and the Starks in peace permanently."

 _And that the unofficial reason was that you want Arya for a daughter,_ he thought but did not say.

"Yes, that was part of it," Tywin said. "But I entertained the idea for sometime before I told either of you. It first entered my head after you lost your hand."

Jaime looked down at his golden hand, rubbing the metal absently. "What about it?"

"I thought your time holding a sword was finished," Tywin said. "You never liked practicing. Never liked trying anything that didn't come naturally to you. I assumed that the moment you picked up a sword, you would give up. Maybe you wouldn't pick up a sword again at all. Resign yourself to defeat."

Jaime didn't know how to reply to that. In all honesty, it was a fair assessment. He had almost given up.

"I was surprised when, not a few days after your recovery, I heard that Arya Stark had beaten you with a practice sword until you defended yourself," Tywin said. "And just like that, you were practicing again."

"So you engaged me to Arya because she hit me with a stick?" Jaime asked.

"No," Tywin said. "I engaged you to her because she told you to get up. And you did."

Jaime was silent. There was nothing he could say to refute his father. Nothing he could say to deny it. In truth, Arya had dragged him back to his feet when he thought he might lie down and die. He just never thought his father noticed.

He wondered if Arya would have left him in the dark if she knew she could avoid this match. He would have to ask her some time.

"It's nearly time," Tywin said. "We can speak of your doubts later. Put them aside for now. You're a lion and the world is watching you."

Jaime nodded once. At the very least, he was used to being watched. "Let's give them a good show then."

* * *

Arya had never looked so polished in her life. The dress alone made her look like a proper lady. But then her hair had been carefully curled and pinned up with silver and gold pins-a far cry away from the rat's nest she used to keep as a child. Every time she looked at herself in the mirror, she barely recognized herself, and she kept playing with her curls.

Sansa batted her hand gently away. "Don't play too much. You'll ruin it. Your handmaids worked very hard."

"My hair feels heavy," Arya said. "And stiff."

"It matches the dress then," Sansa said with a grin.

"It's only for a day," her mother said. "And you wear it well."

Arya managed a small, nervous smile. Her heart was already racing and she wasn't even at the sept. She would be the center of attention today. All eyes would be on her, watching to see if she made some sort of mistake. Maybe she should have slept for at least a few hours the previous night.

Catelyn crossed over to her, taking her hands and hers. "Breathe," she murmured. "The ceremony will feel long, but it isn't really. Just keep breathing through it all. You'll be all right."

Arya nodded once, squeezing her mother's hands.

"We'll need to go to the sept soon," Sansa said. "Walk with us?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Just...give me one more minute."

Her mother and sister nodded and trailed from the room. When they had gone, Arya turned back to look at herself in the mirror. Her reflection was a stranger to her. She searched for pieces that she could identify as Arya Stark. The eyes, she supposed. And the scar that cut across her cheek.

Maybe she just wasn't use to being beautiful.

Arya took in the stranger in the mirror for a long moment, breathing until she could accept that it was _her_ staring back through the glass. Then she exhaled and turned away.

She checked to make sure all of her knives were in place. She adjusted her shoes. Then she joined her mother and sister outside.

It was time.

* * *

The sept was crowded with people. Arya could see them all filing in from a small side door. The very sight made her chest tight. She tried to find people she knew in the crowd. She saw her mother at the front and her sister sitting with her new husband. She saw Lady Olenna. She saw Margaery and Tommen. And Lord Tywin. And up at the front she saw Jaime, dressed in red and gold and holding a red and gold cloak to match.

 _That's for me,_ Arya thought, swallowing hard.

"You don't want them to see you to soon," a familiar voice said from behind her. "I hear its bad luck."

Arya turned to see Robb smiling at her. She hugged him before she thought about it, because she needed a brother right at that moment. He wrapped his arms around her in return, holding her close.

"Never imagined you in such a dress before," he said.

"Neither did I," Arya said.

"Well, I won't say it suits you, because you'd take that as an insult." He pulled back to look down at her. "But it does look beautiful."

Arya cracked a smile. "Thank you. I'm...I'm glad you're here to help me down the aisle."

"I know you wish it was father," Robb said. "Sansa did too."

"I do wish it was father," Arya said. "But then again, he would hate to give me away to a Lannister."

"Oh, he would be miserable," Robb agreed, offering his arm to help her toward the main entrance. Arya accepted. "I...am sorry."

"About not being father?" Arya asked.

"No...My war is the reason you were taken hostage and the reason you were engaged to Jaime Lannister," Robb said. "I take responsibility for that."

Arya shook her head. "It wasn't your fault. I would have waged war the same way if I was in your shoes. You already have the weight of the north on your shoulders. Don't add me to the pile. I can carry my own weight."

"Maybe. But you're still family. You're still a Stark, even after this," Robb said.

"Yes," Arya said softly. "I'll always be a Stark."

They approached the entrance of the sept, stepping inside. As they did, everyone stood and Arya's hand tightened in a vice like rip on Robb's arm. She had been in _fights_ where her legs did not shake as much. This was foolish. She was being foolish.

 _Breathe._

She took in a deep breath and let it spread throughout her whole being. _Breathe. It's all right. Fluid as water. Calm as a sea after a storm. You are a wolf. You are strong._

Then she began to walk.

As Robb guided her down the aisle she did not look out at the people. She looked straight ahead, keeping her head held high. If she looked either direction she might be caught up in the judgement of some stranger. Instead she looked at Jaime. Jaime was a familiar face at least. And he looked right back at her with the smallest smile.

Before she knew it, Arya was at the head of the sept. Robb kissed her forehead and passed her over to Jaime. Arya blinked rapidly, her gaze moving from Robb to Jaime's outstretched left hand. She accepted it in hers, squeezing tight, and let him guide her up onto the platform.

It felt so strange standing beside him, in total silence. She wanted to make some snide quip to cut the tension. She supposed he wanted to do the same. But instead, they had no choice but to listen to the Septon drone words he had droned a thousand times.

In all honesty, Arya was barely aware of anything that the septon said. But at some point she was aware of the words "cloak", "bride" and "protection". She turned around as Jaime adjusted the cloak in his hand and felt the fabric brush against her shoulder. But as he tried to maneuver it to her other arm, it slipped off the first. Of course it would. He only had one hand and it was quite difficult to maneuver a cloak like that.

He tried again and this time, Arya reached up and gripped the cloak in her three fingers, keeping it secure so that he could fully cover her. She turned back to him, wrapped in red and gold, and he gave her a small smile of thanks. Then the septon was talking again. About the seven. About marriage. About so many things. But none of the words quite made sense in her head. She glanced at Jaime, trying to focus on his face and not the faces of all those watching them.

When the septon paused she knew it was time for them to speak.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

She had practiced saying the words, knowing that she absolutely could not stumble through them on the actual day. And she was relieved that she got through every word without stuttering at all. Jaime managed the same. They must have looked like a perfectly composed couple to everyone else, but Arya knew they were both sleep deprived and barely maintaining appearances.

Then, the ceremony was almost at its end, and Jaime spoke his last words. "With a kiss, I pledge my love."

Arya felt his good hand rest against her cheek, drawing her face to his. He had to bend down a great deal and she rose just slightly on her toes to accommodate him as he pressed a short kiss to her lips. Arya felt heat burn at her cheeks.

But the kiss was over nearly as soon as it started and the sept was on its feet, applauding the new match. Arya and Jaime turned to face them for the first time and she released a long breath. The ceremony was over. It was done with.

She looked down into the crowd and the first face she saw was that of Tywin Lannister. The one who had orchestrated all of this in the first place. There was something like pride in his expression and he gave her the smallest nod.

"We survived," Jaime said under his breath so that only she could hear. "And we didn't stumble at all did we?"

"It's a miracle," Arya murmured in return, relieved that they could speak without being heard. "Neither of us is suited for weddings."

"No, but here we are," Jaime said. "Are you alright?"

Arya smiled and nodded once. That was really the only correct response. She was Arya Lannister now. Lannister and Stark in one.

And neither wolves nor lions showed weakness.

* * *

Just because the ceremony was over, did not mean Arya could relax of course. There were hours of feasting ahead of them and, with that, hours of every lord in existence grappling for a chance to congratulate the new Lannister couple. Arya knew very well that as she sat at the table, she would have to greet a wide assortment of people with a smile when she would have much preferred to hide under the table.

At the very least, Jaime was next to her, and now they could talk more freely. She was sure most couples felt awfully awkward at their wedding feast, sitting next to each other and trying to make conversation for the first time. But she and Jaime had already been through an awful lot together, and they had both seen each other at their lowest. There was nothing awkward about him...just the rest of the feast.

Still, Arya made an effort to remember the names of the lords who came to greet her-especially those from the Westerlands. Tywin had warned her that they would view her as an outsider so she must make herself one of them if she hoped to govern them. Arya intended to do just that.

"Harys Swyft, my lady," the latest lord approached and introduced himself, offering his hand. Arya accepted it with a smile. _This one_ she knew. "I must offer my sincerest congratulations."

"Thank you," she said. "I appreciate it, Lord Swyft. How is the planting progressing this season?"

He seemed surprised that she knew of the cornfields but he answered none the less. "Quite well, my lady. The winter was kind, so the ground has been kind as well. We were able to start earlier than usual."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "Enjoy the party."

Jaime was smirking behind his hand as Harys Swyft walked away. "You play the role well. It's like you've slipped on a mask of courtesy. It's a bit frightening."

"I assure you, I hate it," Arya said. "But I need to make a good first impression, don't I?"

"Father's lessons are sinking in," Jaime said.

It seemed like an eternity before the procession ended. Arya greeted friends and family and strangers alike. She was only able to act herself around those she knew. At last, she stood, insisting on going on a turn about the gardens.

"If I don't move for a moment I might explode," she looked down at Jaime. "You can handle the courtesies for a bit, yes?"

"Of course," Jaime said. "I'm better at them than you."

She resisted the urge to punch him in the shoulder. That wouldn't be very graceful.

On her turn about the garden, it did not take her long to run into Tywin. He had been keeping his distance at the wedding, watching from afar. It was actually kind of odd. Usually he felt more of a need to insert himself into a situation.

"Enjoying this wedding you planned, my lord?" Arya asked.

Tywin inclined his head. "Well enough. You seemed to have survived it."

"It seems that way doesn't it. I am trying very hard to act a lady," Arya said. "I thought you would be at the main table more...managing the constant flow of Westerlanders."

Tywin shrugged. "No need. You're managing them just fine on your own."

Arya blinked. "That...was that a compliment?"

"I give those on rare occasion, yes," Tywin said. "Only when they're due."

Arya grinned and curtsied. "Thank you, Lord Tywin." She glanced up. "Am I supposed to call you something else now? I mean now that I'm...married to Jaime."

He was her father in law after all, which was quite strange to think about. She wondered if there was a courtesy for that.

Tywin shook his head. "It really doesn't matter."

"Lady Arya, you've escaped your table." Arya turned to see Margaery coming forward. "I came to congratulate you and you had wandered away."

"Sorry, my queen. I had to move or I would go mad," Arya said.

"Well then we'll move and talk," Margaery linked arms with Arya, glancing up at Tywin. "I hope you won't mind if I steal her."

"Not at all," Tywin gave them a nod. "Enjoy the feast."

Arya opened her mouth to reply but Margaery had already begun whisking her away. She glanced back over her shoulder at Tywin as they continued down the path. He was...strange today. Different from his usual self.

If Arya did not know any better, she might even say he seemed...happy.

What a odd sort of thing that was.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I'm still way behind on answering reviews and I didn't even get to anon reviews this time around. I am truly tired and exhausted. Time for work! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	69. Chapter 69: Wine and Peace

_**A/N: Alrighty, we have a longer second half of the wedding here in this chapter! Lots more interactions and fun stuff so I hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 69: Wine and Peace**

It was strange for Catelyn Stark-watching her daughter on her wedding day. She could not begin to name half of the emotions that mixed in her chest. They conflicted and contradicted each other with every pulse of her heart.

On one hand, a mother always looked forward to her daughter's wedding day. It was a mother's duty to prepare her daughter for marriage and had been since long before Catelyn was born. On another hand, Arya was being married to a Lannister, the family which had nearly brought the Starks to ruin. Ned would have hated this match with all of his heart. He would have protested. Perhaps even physically fought back. She expected Arya to loathe it just as much when she first heard of the betrothal from Tywin.

Yet, besides a natural dose of nerves, Arya seemed content. She had seemed resigned to her fate in the north, but since then she had become...determined, like one who refused to be a passive player in her own life. She had accepted the match wholeheartedly.

Catelyn always expected a beautiful wedding for Sansa, but she expected Arya to fight any match all the way to the marriage bed and beyond. Her second daughter always battled the expectations of her sex, as if determined to become a boy herself.

But she walked down the aisle of the great sept with stunning grace, her head held high. She was beautiful. A true lady in every sense of the word. No matter who Arya was marrying, Catelyn felt a flutter of pride in her heart. Her daughter had grown up so much.

So there was joy. There was melancholy. There was pride. There was bitter regret. And they all crashed into each other-a confusing jumble of emotions that did not quite seem to fit.

But nothing was quite as confusing as watching Arya with Tywin Lannister.

The first time she saw them together, years ago, the Lord of Casterly Rock had her daughter by the scruff of her collar. Arya had been terrified then. Much as she tried to hide it, Catelyn had seen the fear in her eyes.

Now, there was no fear at all. She watched them across the garden, speaking with a strange air of familiarity. Arya was relaxed in the presence of her captor, a smirk touching her lips he spoke to her. She gave some reply and Catelyn swore she saw the man almost smile.

Jaime Lannister had mentioned before that Arya had his father's favor. She had witnessed proof of that in the north when she found him waiting by her bedside, though it had taken her some time to process it. Here and now, she could see that moment wasn't a fluke. Tywin Lannister was truly fond of her daughter and, even more impossible, Arya was truly fond of him.

What would Ned have thought of that? He always hated Tywin Lannister. He once said he would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to the Lord of Casterly Rock. Tywin was opposed to everything Ned stood for. He did not care about honor or oaths or the laws of the gods. He was ruthless and immovable.

Except when he wasn't.

Speaking to Arya...it softened his edges in such a peculiar way. Catelyn wondered, for a moment, if she might be imagining things. But the longer she looked, the longer she was sure of it. How strange it was to watch.

"She'll be alright, mother," Sansa murmured, jolting Catelyn out of her thoughts.

"I know that," Catelyn replied.

"You've been watching her all day like you're afraid she'll shatter at any moment," Sansa pointed out.

"I'm not afraid she'll shatter," Catelyn said. "I...I'm not sure what I'm afraid of. It's just strange to see her here. As if..."

"As if what?" Sansa asked.

"As if she belongs," Catelyn replied. Arya had more of the north in her than nearly all the Starks. Yet in this room, she did seem to belong. Not just with Lord Tywin either. With Jaime, her new husband, who had made her laugh at the main table. With King Tommen, who beamed when he had congratulated Arya on the match and jokingly called her 'aunt'. With Queen Margaery who had just swept Arya away from Tywin to introduce her to a group of other ladies.

All these years, Catelyn had imagined her daughter locked away in a cage in the Red Keep. She was wrong. Arya had made allies in this place. Perhaps even friends. Her daughter had learned to make this lion's den her home.

She was proud of her for that. Proud and melancholic all at once.

 _You would be proud too, Ned,_ Catelyn thought. _Arya is grown and stronger than we could have imagined._

All of her children, had weathered tremendous storms to get this far. Robb had fought three wars, and lost a wife. Sansa had survived captivity in King's Landing, and hid for weeks in the crypts of Winterfell, keeping her niece and nephews alive. Bran had been crippled and taken hostage, and still he insisted on journeying north with Jon Snow.

Arya was no different. She survived captivity in King's Landing and captivity to the Boltons. She had survived assassination attempts. She had survived a terrible king. She had survived that bastard Ramsay Bolton, who had carved marks into her skin and heart and she had paid him back for his cruelty when she took his life. That she could still smile and stand strong after all of that was a blessing.

Catelyn felt many mixed emotions, but more than anything, she was grateful to see her daughter smile.

"If you are worried for her, don't be."

Catelyn almost jumped at the sound of Tywin Lannister's voice. She had not noticed him approaching. She was too busy watching Arya with Margaery. Sansa had joined the conversation as well. They all looked content.

"I'm not worried," Catelyn replied. "Arya is strong. She can take care of herself."

Tywin inclined his head in agreement, sipping his wine.

"Though, if I'm honest, I worry she'll take someone's hand in the bedding ceremony," Catelyn said.

"There won't be one," Tywin said. "She plans to feign ill to avoid it."

Catelyn raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"No. But it surprises me that you'll allow it."

"I do not make a habit of refusing your daughter reasonable requests," Tywin said. "I pay my debts."

Catelyn's mouth twitched. "So you acknowledge your debt to her. That's astonishing as well."

"Why? A Lannister always pays his debts. I am a Lannister," Tywin said. "I know I'm far less honorable than your late husband. But I do live by some rules."

"What are those rules?" Catelyn asked. "I'm interested to know. Since the Starks and the Lannisters are irrevocably locked together now."

"The Family-the name and the legacy-comes before everything else. Including honor," Tywin replied.

"Even if your name is hated?" Catelyn asked. "Does that not cast a blight on your legacy?"

"It's more important to survive than be liked," Tywin said. "Some families have the luxury of both. But not many."

No. Most families could not manage both. At one time, the Targaryens did. But then again, they had the benefit of dragons. A few dragons always brought miracles within reach.

"And what rules do you live by?" Tywin asked after a pause. "The Stark rules?"

"No," Catelyn said after a pause. "I respected my husband's principles and his gods. But they were never mine."

"What then?"

Catelyn looked out over the room, finding Sansa and Arya in the crowd, standing shoulder to shoulder. Arya said something to make Sansa laugh. "I live for my children and their future. Not for the name. That doesn't matter to me. But I want them to survive this world for as long as possible. I would do terrible things to ensure that."

"Reckless things as well," Tywin commented. She looked up at him, confused. "You very nearly died at Walder Frey's hand."

"I did," Catelyn agreed. "And I would have, gladly, if it meant saving my son."

They lapsed into silence then. This was such a strange conversation to be having in a strange place. Six years ago, Catelyn would never have predicted speaking to Tywin Lannister at a wedding. Especially not this wedding.

"In any case," Catelyn said. "I'm glad Arya does not need to endure the bedding ceremony. I was fortunate enough to avoid it as well."

"Were you?" Tywin raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Ned refused it. He did not want to break a man's jaw on our wedding night," Catelyn said, smiling just slightly at the memory. Gods, she had barely known Ned then but already, he had shown his kindness.

"Wise of him," Tywin said. "I very nearly did. One man took far too many liberties."

"I'm surprised you let the man survive the night," Catelyn said.

A shadow of a bitter smile passed over his face. "Well, I had no choice. He was king at the time."

Catelyn's eyes widened. The animosity between Tywin Lannister and Aerys Targaryen was well known, but rarely did anyone discuss its source."

"He took liberties with most women," Tywin continued. "But her especially. Every time he did, I contemplated the consequences of making him bleed."

"You knew your wife before you married then?" Catelyn asked.

Tywin did not answer for a moment and Catelyn wondered if she had brushed upon some forbidden topic. But after a pause, he answered. "Yes. We knew each other as children."

"That must have been nice. Being familiar with someone before the wedding day," Catelyn said. "I barely knew Ned. I always expected to marry his brother. I _wanted_ to marry his brother." She shook her head. "But it was for the best, I think. Ned was more reliable. More constant."

"Yes, Brandon Stark proved to be outstandingly rash," Tywin said. "Riding south to confront a mad king with a habit of burning his enemies...that was a beyond foolish move."

"He wanted to save his sister," Catelyn said. "I don't blame him. Sometimes we all do foolish things for those we love."

"It's a tremendous weakness for most," Tywin agreed.

Catelyn sighed, sipping her wine. "That's exactly what I would expect you to say."

"Am I wrong?" Tywin asked. "Many men die needlessly for such things."

"We all die eventually," Catelyn said. "Dying for a loved one is not such a bad way to do it."

Tywin inclined his head, as if conceding her point.

They stood there for a while longer, sipping wine in silence, looking out over the wedding which had joined their families. Catelyn's emotions were still confusing to her. She had every right to hate this day and hate the Lannisters, including the man standing next to her. But hatred took so much energy, and she was to choose one of the day's jumbled emotions, she would rather choose pride for her daughter.

So long as her daughter seemed content, she was too.

* * *

Arya endeavored to break up her interactions with strangers by latching onto the few faces she knew in the crowd. At one time she found herself with Margaery. At another moment, with Sansa. At another, she stopped to talk to the king for a while and at another she stopped to speak to Robb. They always seemed to show up when she most needed it, like they were watching and waiting to see when she needed help. And she often felt she needed help.

 _Jaime is better at this kind of thing than me,_ Arya thought, glancing across the room. His smile did not look even a bit forced as he conversed with some western lord.

 _Farman,_ she reminded herself. She had been trying to practice with their names. _That one's a Farman. What was his first name? Does the first name matter or can I just call him Lord Farman and never ask?_

Arya sipped her wine rather than answering her own question. She almost never drank but today, at least, she was making an exception. She needed to soothe her nerves.

"It must be overwhelming," Princess Myrcella said, appearing at her side and looping her arm through hers. "Having everyone looking at you. I'm sure it will be the same when Trystanne and I marry."

Arya exhaled. Good. Another person she knew. Not that she knew Myrcella _well_ but she at least knew her name. "When will you marry, princess?"

"In the heat summer, I'm sure," Myrcella said. "It's a good thing the Dornish are used to dealing with heat. Will you attend? I hope so."

"I'm sure I will. Your uncle will want to see you marry," Arya said.

"That's right, you're my aunt by law now," Myrcella said. "So you would have to come."

Arya smiled awkwardly. She could do without thinking about being an 'aunt' to a girl a year younger than her. "I'll look forward to it then." She looked around. "I suppose you know more of the people in this room than I do."

"Oh, not at all," Myrcella said. "I lived in King's Landing all my life and only visited the Rock twice. I don't know any of the western lords." She sighed. "And then I've been away in Dorne for so long that I don't remember most of the others either. So we're in the same boat, you and me."

Arya exhaled. "Good. You seem like the kind of person who remembers every name and face."

"Hardly," Myrcella said. "I remember what people do and say more often than that."

"That's true," a familiar voice joined the conversation. Oberyn Martell. "I have heard her recall words from a conversation three years previous. A very good memory, this one. You'll never get anything past her."

Myrcella's face lit up with a proud smile. Arya wondered if she knew how much Oberyn hated her grandfather. The hate clearly did not translate to the princess. She seemed to quite treasure his approval.

"I'd like to steal the new bride away from you for a minute," Oberyn said. "If I may."

Myrcella nodded. "Of course." She touched Arya's arm. "We'll talk later."

Arya nodded once, watching her go. Then she turned to Oberyn. "I'm afraid I can't spar at the moment. My dress is too heavy."

"It could be good practice for you to be prepared in any situation," Oberyn said. "Not to worry, I didn't come to spar. Merely to congratulate you on your wedding."

"Really?" Arya asked. "And did that require sending Myrcella away?"

Oberyn smirked. "You also miss nothing, Lady Arya." He tilted his head to the side. "Walk with me?"

"If you insist," Arya said, falling into step beside him.

"I imagine you will be departing for Casterly Rock soon," Oberyn said. "To govern while Tywin Lannister remains here as hand."

"That's likely, yes," Arya asked. "And?"

"If Lord Tywin plans to give you any sort of control over the Westerlands, I wonder if we can work out an arrangement. I would like to meet Gregor Clegane. Speak with him," Oberyn said. "You may be able to make that happen."

"I may," Arya agreed. "I would love nothing better than for you to...speak to him. I may be able to help. Just not immediately. When I enter Casterly Rock, I will do so as an outsider. I will need to gain trust there first." She glanced at him. "But if you don't mind waiting a bit longer..."

"Oh no. I'm a patient man. I have already been waiting for some time." They stopped by a tall hedge and Oberyn turned to face her. "What's a bit longer?"

 _I'll have to come up with a way to justify the choice to Tywin. I don't think he will accept the Mountain's place on my list as a valid reason._ Arya thought. _I'm not sure Tywin even knows I have a list._

"More wine, my lady?" a server asked.

"Please," Arya muttered, holding out her wine glass. This was the only day in the world she wanted to be a bit drunk.

"I do appreciate your understanding," Oberyn said seriously. "Injecting a bit of that Stark honor into the Lannister family might do it some good."

"If I can make it through this day," Arya agreed, lifting her drink in a toast.

Oberyn looked just over her shoulder. Then his eyes narrowed and he reached out to stop her from raising her glass to her lips. "Don't drink that," he said softly.

Arya's brow furrowed and she turned around to follow his eyes. There was wine spilled on the ground not far behind them, and a pitcher in the middle. The same pitcher the servant had used. Just beyond the spill, that servant was walking quickly away.

"Give that to me," Oberyn said.

Arya handed it over, her heart pounding. Then she followed him as he hurried after the servant. He tried to duck around a corner, but Oberyn circled the opposite direction, cutting off his escape. The man's eyes widened when he found Oberyn in his path.

"I...forgive me my lord, but if you're looking for more wine, I spilt my pitcher."

"I'm a prince, actually," Oberyn asked. "It's a shame you spilt such a good wine. Fortunately we still have a cup." He held out the chalice. "For you. You should taste."

"I'm a servant. I'm not allowed to," the man stammered.

"But you've been working so hard all day," Oberyn said.

"It's much more fit for a lady," the servants eyes darted to Arya. There was fear in them and Arya could see that he had very much intended for her to drink it and her alone.

 _Because he tainted it with poison,_ she thought. Slowly she slipped her left hand up her sleeve, clasping it tight around the knife. Around them, people were starting to notice the scene, stopping to watch the commotion. The guards near the fountain shifted, resting a hand on their swords.

"Lady Arya was just telling me that she has no more taste for wine. But this is a fine Dornish vintage. You should have a chance to experience it," Oberyn said, his voice deadly smooth. "Or maybe you'd just like to tell us who sent you."

The man's eyes narrowed. He was caught. In an instant a knife slipped into his hand, but Arya had already drawn her knife from her sleeve. She jammed it down, straight through the man's wrist, pinning him to the table beside them. Fury mixed with fear and she realized how close she had once again come to death.

"Who sent you," she snarled. " _Tell me._ "

The section of the garden around her had gone completely quiet, except for the man's labored breath. There were guards hurrying toward the scene, and the assassin knew he was almost caught. His eyes flashed.

"Euron Greyjoy sends his regards."

Then he snatched the poisoned cup from Oberyn's hand before anyone could stop him and drank long and deep. Within moments, blood streamed from his nose and his eyes rolled back in his head. He slumped to the ground, his wrist still pinned to the table above. Dead.

Arya stumbled back, her vision spinning a bit. A Greyjoy? The Greyjoys were supposed to be dead. Were the gods so cruel as to add yet another threat into her life?

 _There is only one god and his name is death,_ Arya thought to herself. _Why is Death trying so constantly to claim me?_

"Jaime, remove her from the garden immediately." She was barely aware of Lord Tywin's voice somewhere close bye. Had he been watching as well?

A hand rested on her upper arm and Arya heard Jaime's voice near her ear, soft and calm. "It's all right. Come with me."

"My family," Arya croaked out. "Don't let them drink anything." After all, there could be more assassins in the garden and if the Greyjoys were responsible...

"They won't. Let my father handle it," Jaime said, looping an arm around her and guiding her away. There were guards following close behind them. Everywhere, Arya heard murmurs of confused guests wondering what was happening. Arya's gaze darted around, searching for more threats. There could be more. There could be so many more.

Then, suddenly, the sounds of the garden were gone and Arya was inside the keep, leaning up against the walls. She wasn't quite sure where they were. Her vision had started to black out during the chaos.

 _I'm being foolish,_ Arya thought. _It's an assassin. Just another assassin. He's dead._

Just another assassin. Why were assassins such a normality in her life?

"Arya, look at me," Jaime murmured. She felt his hand against her cheek and her vision snapped back into focus. She focused on his face, swallowing hard, slowly steadying her breath. "You're not hurt at all, are you?"

She shook her head.

"And you didn't drink anything?"

"No. Prince Oberyn stopped me." Arya blinked hard. "Did my family drink anything? Are they okay?"

"Guards went to retrieve their drinks. I'm sure they're fine," Jaime said. "Seven hells, what are the Greyjoys doing back in this game? Your brother wiped them out."

"Yes, he did. But Euron Greyjoy was not in Westeros when it happened."

Arya looked up when she heard Tywin's voice. He had followed after them, and with him came Robb. She let out a breath of relief. "Robb...are you okay? Is everyone okay? They didn't..."

"Everyone is fine," Robb said. "Who is Euron Greyjoy, exactly? Lord Balon's brother?"

"Yes, but he was banished some time ago," Tywin said. "They say he went mad on his voyages. I didn't foresee him being a problem."

"So he goes after Arya? Why?" Robb asked. "Why not go after me?"

"Arya is a Stark who just became a Lannister," Tywin said. "The crown charged you to end the rebellion. It's likely he wants revenge on both families and he wanted to make some sort of statement."

"He's not trying to hide, that's for sure," Jaime said. "He had the assassin name him guilty."

"The fact that he's not trying to hide makes him more dangerous," Tywin said. "Jaime, take Arya to your chambers. Lock the door until we're sure there are no other assassins. I'll send guards with you."

There was fury in Lord Tywin's voice. Real fury. Yet another enemy has shown themselves and challenged the Lannister name. Arya swallowed hard.

They were both very tired of dealing with enemies, but the enemies never ceased.

* * *

Arya had not yet seen her new chambers. It was a room built for two, well furnished, and with a very large canopy bed. There was a balcony as well, but Jaime closed and locked it shortly after they entered. It was unlikely anyone could scale the wall, but they did not want to take chances.

Once inside, Arya sank slowly onto the bed. Her hands were shaking and she squeezed them tightly together in an effort to make them stop. She watched Jaime move about the room, making sure there was no one hiding in any of the corners.

Then, at last, he sighed and turned to her. "Well, that's one way to escape a bedding ceremony I suppose."

Arya let out a single, bitter laugh. "I... preferred my plan of...feigning ill." She stared down at her hands. "Now I actually feel ill."

"I know," Jaime crossed to her, kneeling before her on the ground. He rested his hand over her trembling ones. "I promise one day our life will know peace."

"I don't think you can promise that," Arya said murmured, staring at his hand over hers. "Starks don't know peace. Lannisters don't know peace. I'm both. I don't think I'll ever get a chance to rest."

Jaime let out a long sigh, squeezing her hands. "Maybe one day. But until my father lets us leave we have no choice but to stay here." He rose from the ground. "Perhaps you can get some rest now. You didn't get any last night."

"Not a single minute," Arya said with a weak smile.

Jaime rubbed his hand behind his head. "And here I told you to try to sleep before I left you. You never listen to me do you?"

"I don't. You'll have to get used to that now that you're my husband." The word fell into a long pause as Jaime seemed to digest that fact. Arya looked down at her hands. "That's strange to say out loud. That you're my husband."

"And you're my wife," Jaime said. "Yet nothing much has changed from yesterday to today, has it?"

"I was almost killed," Arya noted.

"That's fairly normal for you," Jaime said. "I suppose the dress is different. Not something you would usually wear."

"Yes, and it's extremely uncomfortable," Arya said. "And heavy."

"You're sure the weight doesn't come from your knives?"

"I'm sure," Arya said. "Do you think I'm allowed to remove it now? Or will they expect me to appear later."

"If they do, you can always slip on another dress. I believe the servants moved your clothing to this room," Jaime said.

"Thank the gods for that." Arya stood and began to work at the buttons which ran along the back. It required quite a bit of contortion on her part. Her sister and mother had helped her into the dress, but it was difficult to remove it on her own. She cursed a few times before she finally managed to do the top button and began struggling with the next.

"Do you need help?" Jaime asked.

"You only have one hand," Arya pointed out.

"Yes, but you can't even see the buttons," Jaime said. "Gods, Arya, have you accepted help without putting up a fight once in your life?"

She glared at him over her shoulder. "When I'm unconscious."

Jaime exhaled and approached her, working open the buttons with his one hand. Arya sighed and let her hands fall to her side. She was grateful for the assistance, but in the back of her mind, another thought was twisting and turning. They were in this room, standing next to the bed meant to be their marriage bed. She knew what was expected of her. Lord Tywin had given her permission to forgo the ceremony but the bedding itself? No...that was still meant to happen.

Arya's heart thudded against her rib cage as Jaime finished with the last of the buttons. Slowly, she peeled off the outer layer of the dress, leaving her in her white shift. She shivered even though the room was not particularly cold and slowly turned to face Jaime.

"Do you think that..." She swallowed hard. Her voice was soft to her own ears. "Even after the assassination attempt...they'll expect..."

"I don't know," Jaime murmured. He reached up, almost absently, tucking one the curls which had escaped its pin back into place. "Perhaps."

Arya felt a bit light headed. She was anxious...not because of Jaime himself but because of the unknown. She had faced so many people in battle. She had fought for her life over and over again, including less than an hour before this moment. But Jaime was right. That was normal for her. This wasn't. The wedding dress wasn't. The role of wife wasn't. Kisses and marriage beds and everything else. It was foreign. It was strange. It scared her.

Jaime bent just slightly closer to her, his hand cradling her cheek and Arya closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could get through this. She would be fine. It was Jaime. Just Jaime. Why would she show weakness here when her life was not even on the line.

She expected to feel his lips on hers again. Instead she felt them press gently against her forehead. Her eyes snapped open in surprise, and when Jaime slowly pulled back, she looked up at him, trying to read his expression.

"We don't have to do this right now," Jaime said softly. "You're tired. You're tense. This can wait. And if father wants to argue about it, he can argue with me."

Arya released a breath, nodding once.

"Good," Jaime said. "Now, gets some rest. I'll stay awake for a bit longer."

This time, Arya listened to him, because she was too utterly exhausted to do anything else. This day had been one nerve wracking event after another, but at least, through it all, Jaime was constant.

It was a small thing in this world, but it was enough to help her rest easy.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Ah, let's inject a little chaos back into the mix, shall we? Euron Greyjoy seems a good choice. All of you predicting things going wrong in some way know me so well lol. But I hope you enjoyed none the less.**_

 _ **Didn't get around to answering anon reviews this time (and still working through a few other reviews), and I have to get to work now. Sorry for my terrible inconsistency but I am trying! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	70. Chapter 70: A New Player

_**A/N: A short chapter today because that was all I had time to write. I know I do this to you guys most thursdays but its because I work full time all week so *shrug*. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 70: A New Player**

Once Jaime had gotten Arya to safety, Tywin was able to concentrate on searching for more assassins, particularly amongst the servers. Every man with a pitcher was made to sample some of their wine to be sure that it was not poison. And if any one of them hesitated, they would be held as traitors. Every server obeyed and none of them dropped. Tywin had some of them arrested anyway as a show of action, but none the less, the truth was clear: Euron Greyjoy had only sent one assassin, and that assassin had been meant for Arya.

It both infuriated and confused Tywin. If the Greyjoys wished to strike back at the Starks, Robb Stark would be the ideal target. Killing Arya would send a statement, but it would only serve to infuriate two families, both with control over the western coast. Was Euron Greyjoy really prepared for that kind of fight?

"There have been a few raids on our coast these past few moons," Robb Stark said, pacing a small library just off the walkway leading to the gardens. "But only from one or two ships at a time and they've retreated quickly every time our navy responds. This is too bold."

"My brother has sent me reports of some Greyjoy attacks as well," Tywin said. "The same. A few ships at a time, nothing more. Raids on small villages."

"If this is Euron's play to regain his home, he's not making a good impression," Robb said. "Perhaps he really did go mad."

"Perhaps," Tywin said. Something did feel wrong about this situation but he had no idea what. There was something else at work beyond Euron Greyjoy.

"I would call any man who claimed such an assassination attempt mad," a voice said from the door. Tywin exhaled and turned around to see Oberyn Martell leaning against the arch, looking infuriatingly smug. "Or very confident. Either one."

"Prince Oberyn," Robb Stark crossed to the man, holding out his hand. "We haven't been introduced, but I thank you for saving my sister."

"The pleasure is all mine, Lord Stark," Oberyn said. "People say you are very like your father. He also had a strong sense of justice." His eyes flickered to Tywin for just a moment as he said the words and Tywin's jaw clenched. But he would not allow the viper to get to him so easily.

"You have my gratitude for stopping the assassin, Prince Oberyn," he said.

"I didn't do it for you," Oberyn said. "It just seemed a shame for such a nice wedding to go sour."

Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly. Oberyn Martell knew exactly what he had done. He had forced Tywin into his debt with this move. Arya as well. He could see the satisfied look in Oberyn's eyes. They seemed to say, _how will you pay your debt to me now?_

"In any case, I just wanted to see if the assassins had gone after anyone else," Oberyn said. "Or was Arya the sole target?"

"The sole target it seems," Tywin said.

"The other guests will be glad to know that they don't need to watch their drinks." Oberyn turned and began to go, but then he paused. "Oh yes, I almost forgot." He drew a knife from his belt, flipping it in his hand and offering it hilt first to Tywin. "Lady Arya left her blade in the assassin's wrist. I assume she'll want it back."

Tywin accepted the knife from him. It was the very same braavosi blade that she had used to strike the assassin who came for him years ago. "Yes. I assume she will."

Oberyn inclined his head just slightly before backing from the room.

When he had left, Robb glanced at Tywin. "Another one of your enemies, I assume."

"You assume correctly," Tywin said, turning the knife in his hand.

"And is he a candidate for the southern traitor?" Robb asked.

"No," Tywin said. "If he was, I doubt he would have saved your sister." He looked up at Robb. "When you leave, travel far from the sea. You and your mother could be another target."

Robb nodded. "Aye. But he won't find us any easier prey than Arya."

 _Let's hope they don't,_ Tywin thought. In any case, Arya's trick with the knife would certainly leave an impression on the guests. It would be a scandal to some, but to most it would show strength, and she needed that.

 _It's a good thing I let her keep her knives._

* * *

Arya woke the next day to an unfamiliar ceiling and it took her a moment to recognize that she was in her new room as Arya Lannister. The events of the previous day came rushing back to her. The sleepless night, the wedding, the endless stream of guests-the near assassination. All of that together made it surprising that Arya had actually slept quite well that night. Perhaps it was the intense sleep deprivation, but she hadn't even had any dreams.

Slowly, she sat up shaking her hair from her eyes. Jaime was already awake, buttoning up his tunic on the other side of the room. He glanced over his shoulder when he saw her. "Did I wake you?"

Arya shook her head. "No. I think I...may have slept too much."

"From the evening all the way to dawn it seems," Jaime said. "How much do you usually sleep?"

"For the past few moons?" Arya shrugged. "Two or three hours."

"Then I would say you slept the perfect amount. It's a wonder you've been functioning at all," Jaime said.

Arya studied her hands. "I haven't been able to sleep more than a few hours at a time since the Dreadfort...I'm always paranoid that I'll wake up to Ramsay with a knife to my throat, even though he's dead. So I'm waking up to wait for a ghost."

"Well, you didn't wake up last night. Not that I remember," Jaime said.

"No," Arya said. "Maybe it's because the room is larger. Not so...suffocating."

"Yes, that must be it," Jaime finished with the last button on his tunic and crossed to her, extending his hand. "You should get dressed. I'm sure the guests would like to see that you are not dead."

"Ah, that's right. We missed the rest of our reception didn't we?" Arya accepted his hand and slid out of bed. "Mustn't keep them waiting."

* * *

In the early morning, many of the wedding guests were still asleep. Arya was able to take breakfast with Sansa, Willas and Margaery. Jaime had gone to see to some of the other guests to assure them that nothing was amiss. Arya was grateful that he took on that role. She did not quite want to face the lords yet, especially after half of them saw her plunge a blade through a man's wrist. They would have a lot of questions about that.

"I'm glad you're all right," Sansa said. "I was worried for you yesterday. Suddenly, someone was snatching away my glass and telling me you had nearly been poisoned."

"Yes. Not exactly how I imagined my wedding," Arya said.

Sansa's mouth quirked. "I don't think you imagined your wedding at all, Arya."

"Fair point," Arya said.

"Well, before the poisoning, it was a lovely wedding," Margaery said.

"Yes. An excellent wedding," Willas said. He rested his hand over Sansa's. Arya noted how she smiled when he did. "Your sister has said more than once how lovely you were."

"Lovely," Arya repeated. "I'll add that to a list of words I wouldn't expect to hear about me."

"Excellent," Sansa said. "I can give you more words for that list."

They talked of other harmless topics for some time after that before taking a turn in the garden. Margaery stole Willas away from Sansa, leaving the sisters to walk arm and arm behind them.

"I don't imagine you expected your bedding ceremony to be replaced by an assassination attempt," Sansa said.

"No. But if it came down to a choice between the two, I'm not sure I minded," Arya said. "I lived after all."

Sansa smiled. "Yes, mother was worried about you and the bedding ceremony. Afraid you might take someone's eye."

"She was right to be worried," Arya said.

"Well, even without the bedding ceremony..." Sansa glanced at her. "How was last night?"

Arya felt heat rise to her cheeks. "It was...it was fine. Normal...I suppose."

"So there wasn't a bedding then," Sansa said.

Arya sighed. "No. I was...I was too on edge for that. Jaime could see it. He didn't want to..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "It wasn't a good time."

"I'm glad to hear he didn't force himself on you," Sansa said. "Most men would, especially on their wedding night."

"I never thought he would," Arya said. "That's not the sort of person he is."

"No. It doesn't seem so," Sansa said. "So when will you consummate the match?"

Arya swallowed hard. "At some point. I'm not sure. I haven't exactly planned it."

"What worries you?" Sansa asked.

"Well, it's strange isn't it?" Arya asked. "Especially with Jaime and I. I like how we are at the moment. I don't want to change anything. It's just...complicated."

Complicated. That was a word for bedding a man who slept with his sister and had children close to Arya's age. She trusted Jaime with her life and her safety, of course. She knew he would never hurt her. So why did the bedding make her so nervous.

"I understand." Sansa clasped her hand in hers. "I suppose we'll have to wait until our next meeting to talk about such things."

"Are you leaving soon?" Arya asked.

"In the next few days. Robb and mother too. After what happened with the Greyjoys, Robb is anxious to return home to the children," Sansa said.

"Of course," Arya murmured. It had been so nice to see her family again, but she would lose them again soon. She should have expected that, of course.

One way or another, she and her family were always parted.

* * *

Sometimes, when working with Tommen, Tywin could appreciate how much easier he was to handle than the three kings before him. Both Aerys and Joffrey were living nightmares and Robert had been a drunken oaf who ran the kingdom into debt. Tommen had none of their faults and he rarely fought against any of Tywin's suggestions. At most, he asked questions in effort to understand, which an admirable quality in a king. In time, he might be able to rule the kingdom without much help, though his excessively kind heart would be his only obstacle.

"And you're sure that there are no more assassins?" Tommen asked. "You searched?"

"Yes. The servers were thoroughly questioned. If there is another assassin, they're hiding elsewhere," Tywin said. The boy had asked for a briefing on the assassination plot, wanting to know the full extent of the threat. "In any case, none of the servants seemed to recognize our man. Varys is looking for more information."

"You don't think Margaery or I could be targets, do you?" Tommen asked.

"You're the king and queen. You'll always be targets," Tywin said. "But targets for foolish people. Kingslaying is a great crime, and I don't think you have done anything yet to earn an assassination."

"The crown ordered the destruction of the Greyjoys," Tommen pointed out.

"Yes, when your brother was king," Tywin said.

"I don't see why Euron Greyjoy should care who exactly gave the order. Arya didn't. He tried to kill her."

"To send a message to the Starks," Tywin said. "But, if you are concerned, I can always give you more guards."

Tommen thought on it a moment before he shook his head. "No. My current guards are enough."

"Good. Setting that aside, Arya was clearly the prime target," Tywin said. "I had plans to send her to Casterly Rock even before the attempt, but now I think she and Jaime must go soon. The Rock is safer than the Red Keep." He tapped his desk. "The problem is-"

"My mother," Tommen finished the sentence for him. "You're worried about my mother."

Tywin nodded once. Arya and Cersei under the same roof was a terrible idea, even if Kevan claimed Cersei's drinking had been improving. If Arya and Jaime were to take control of the Rock and rule in his stead, Cersei could not be there to compete. It would make it more difficult for Arya in particular to gain control.

"Perhaps we should bring her back here," Tommen said. "In her recent letters she sounds much clearer headed. I can convince her to return to King's Landing."

"Can you?" Tywin asked.

"Yes," Tommen said. "I can travel there on the pretense of visiting the West. I haven't yet as king. And you know mother will want to see me. Once I'm there, I can tell her she's allowed to come back with me. She says she's missed me terribly. She'll want to be close again." Tommen shrugged. "Once we are on the way back to King's Landing, you can send Jaime and Arya."

Tywin thought on the plan. It would likely work. If Tywin asked Cersei to return to King's Landing, she would sense some kind of plot and resist. But if anyone could convince his daughter of anything, it was her children. If Tommen simply said he wanted her to be close to him again, she would not refuse him.

"You'll travel with a large escort to protect from any raiders," Tywin said at last. "And send a raven once she has agreed to leave. But don't mention anything of Jaime and Arya to her."

"I won't," Tommen said. "And my escort will be large enough. Myrcella wants to visit her too and I think she convinced some of her Dornish guard to accompany her."

 _Which means Prince Oberyn will probably go with them,_ Tywin thought. _Fine. If he does then Arya can find a way to repay the debt which she arrives at the Rock._ She would be able to deal with the viper more effectively than him, at least.

"You'll leave in a few days' time then," Tywin said. "When the other Western lords begin to filter back to their keeps, you can join them on the road. They'll like that."

Tommen smiled brightly and nodded. He seemed thrilled that he had come up with a plan on his own, and it was a good plan. After Tywin had sent Cersei away in such a manner, he knew he had driven a permanent wedge between them. It was best to deal with her through her children from now on.

She was always difficult to handle.

* * *

Cersei knew Casterly Rock like the back of her hand. She knew how to sneak in and out without being seen by the guards. All it took was knowing the right passageways. It used to delight her to sneak out of the keep without her father's knowledge. Any small rebellion she could muster was a victory in her mind as a child.

Now, as an adult, she had a few more rebellions in mind.

She had used the passageway to sneak Euron Greyjoy into the castle. Now he sat across from her sipping wine, an intrigued smile on his face. He was a tall man with a slightly wild look in his eye. Just the kind of thing she would expect from a pirate. But if he tried anything, she had her guards close at hand-guards completely loyal to her who would not dare to reveal this conversation to anyone.

"I hear that I almost poisoned a young woman at her wedding," Euron said. "But that my assassin failed. You understand that it was surprising to get the news...considering I didn't even know this woman's name."

"Arya Stark," Cersei said. "They'll be calling her Arya Lannister now, but make no mistake, she is still a Stark. Your family has a grudge against them, yes?"

"My family," Euron shrugged. "If I'm honest though, the Starks did me a favor. Killed my brother and my nephew. Only my niece escaped and she won't challenge me for the salt throne."

"The crown will," Cersei said. "And the Starks. And my father."

"Yes, and I don't think nearly assassinating this Arya helped my situation," Euron said. "If anything, it made them angrier."

"They would not have allowed you to take control no matter what you did," Cersei said. "And you don't have the resources to launch a full scale attack on the western coast."

"What do you know of my resources?" Euron said. "I might have more than you think."

"You only attack with a few ships at a time," Cersei said.

Euron held up a finger. "Different ships every time. No one seems to notice when we're raiding them. They're too focused on running and screaming. But I like to keep the size of my fleet hidden."

"Clever trick," Cersei said. "Still, is that hidden fleet large enough to defeat the Lannister navy? Or the Stark navy?"

Euron shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'll have to try it."

"There's no need," Cersei said. "I'm willing to give you more resources. A lot more."

Euron raised an eyebrow. "Why? To attack the Starks?"

"No," Cersei said. "To attack the Lannisters."

Euron laughed once. "Oh really? You would have me attack your own people? That's a very interesting thought. Tell me more. This sounds like an exciting proposition."

Cersei stood, crossing to the fire. "At the moment, I have little power in my family. My father sent me here to get me out of the way. He dismissed me. Cast me off. He thinks he's beaten me. I intend to prove him wrong." Her grip clenched on her glass. "He'll find that I pay my debts as well."

"If you want to pay your debt, why not send your assassin after him?" Euron asked. "I hear poison works even on men like him."

"I don't just want to kill him. That's not paying the debt," Cersei said. "I want him to suffer as I did. I want him to watch his plans fall to pieces." She stared into the flames, watching a small piece of log crumble to ash. "Once he watches it all burn...then he can die."

Euron Greyjoy cackled and Cersei turned to face him, her eyes narrowed.

"You're an interesting woman, Lady Cersei." Euron stood from his seat. "I'm not one to turn down valuable resources or allies. My brother had this sort of...obsession with the iron price. We take what we want. We don't sow. We don't make deals. He lacked imagination if I'm being completely honest. And now he's dead. I don't mean to follow in his footsteps." He pointed at her. "But you seem like a very interesting woman. If your opening move was to poison someone at a wedding...I want to see what else you have planned."

"So you accept my help?" Cersei asked.

"Oh yes," Euron said. "I'm a simple man. When a beautiful woman wants help destroying her family...I answer the call." He extended his glass, clinking it against hers. "Let's get to work, shall we."

Cersei smirked. This was playing out very well indeed. She had lost the Boltons as allies, which was a shame. But her father still did not know that she was against him. And now she had a new ally to use.

This time, she would not allow her father to win. He would lose and she would savor the look on his face when he did.

* * *

 _ **A/N: A new challenger enters the arena. So those of you who thought it was Cersei were right. She blamed Euron to get the focus off of her. But Euron is intrigued and perhaps has some plans of his own. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	71. Chapter 71: Walls

_**A/N: And we're back! This is more of a character focused chapter to build up some of the themes and arcs for this section of the story. But the plot will really get rolling next chapter. Hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 71: Walls**

A few days after the wedding, just as many of the guests were preparing to leave, Tywin called both Arya and Jaime to the Tower of the Hand to inform them that they would be bound for Casterly Rock within a moon's turn. The very thought stunned Arya. She had always known that she and Jaime would take up control of the Rock, but in her mind it was always some distant thing. Apparently, Tywin wanted them there as soon as possible.

"Naturally, my duties as Hand have kept me here for some time," Tywin said. "Kevan has been managing the Rock well, but it's time my heir took my place. I'd rather the lords of the Westerlands get used to you before age takes me."

"So this will be a test then," Jaime said.

"A test you are not permitted to fail, yes," Tywin said. "In an age of so much change, this is the time to show the country that the Lannisters remain strong."

"Right," Arya said. "A small problem. There's someone at the Rock who doesn't like me very much. She could cause...issues if I try to take control of anything."

"I've already thought of that," Tywin said. "Cersei will be returning to King's Landing."

Jaime's eyebrows shot up. "You've sent for her?"

"I've sent Tommen for her," Tywin said. "He and Myrcella are going to the Rock to see her. Once there, Tommen will beg her to return with him because he misses her company and council. She won't refuse him." Tywin sat back in his chair. "And once he sends word that she has agreed, you will both leave for the Rock."

"So that she and Arya never see each other," Jaime said.

"It's a clever plan," Arya said. "Will Tommen be able to...lie to her?"

"He won't be lying. Just omitting the truth. The King does truly miss his mother. He simply won't say anything about you and Jaime," Tywin said. "In any case, Tommen is the one who suggested this plan. I merely approved it."

"He's growing, isn't he?" Jaime's mouth twitched into a sad smile. "Well...it is a shame we won't cross paths on the road to the Rock. It's been some time now since I've seen Cersei."

Arya glanced at him, biting at the inside of her cheek. At times, she forgot that Jaime was both brother and lover to his sister. That she was his first love and the mother of his children. But she was reminded of it when she saw the sadness in his smile.

He called it a shame that they wouldn't cross paths, but Arya thought it was something of a blessing. If he saw her again, his feelings for her might spark again and she did not want that to happen. Jaime was better when Cersei was far away.

"You'll be able to see her again once you gain control of the Rock," Tywin said. "And once I've confirmed that she is stable. Since she has been away for so long, I can't be sure until I've seen her."

"You're the one who shipped her off to Casterly Rock so you didn't have to handle her anymore," Jaime muttered. "Don't pretend you had nothing to do with her being 'away'."

"The king and the kingdom were my priority at the time," Tywin said flatly. "I didn't have time for her."

"Of course you didn't. You never did, and she always noticed," Jaime said. "Maybe if you had, she wouldn't have become unstable in the first place."

"You're blaming me for her dependency on wine?" Tywin asked.

"No," Jaime said, turning abruptly to leave. "Just the marriage you forced her into."

"Jaime," Tywin said sharply, stopping him in the doorway.

Jaime glanced over his shoulder. "Don't worry, father. I'm not protesting anything. That never works on you. I'll gladly go to the Rock as you command." He bowed his head just slightly. "Excuse me."

A silence fell over the office after Jaime left and Tywin exhaled, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Arya pulled at the fingers of her right hand for a moment trying to think of something to say. But when she opened her mouth, Tywin held up a hand.

"If you're going to start a new argument, don't."

"Why do you assume I'm going to start an argument?" Arya asked.

"Because the last time Jaime picked a fight about Cersei, you followed shortly after with some protests of your own."

"Well, if I'm going to start an argument, this is the perfect time to do it," Arya mused. "Since I'll be leaving for the Rock soon...the distance will help us to ignore each other for another year."

Tywin gave her a hard look and Arya sighed.

"Sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood and I forgot that you don't have a sense of humor."

"You're right. I don't," Tywin said flatly. "What were you going to say then?"

"I was just concerned...about me," Arya said. "I thought I would have more time to learn about the west and how to govern it. But since I'm leaving for the Rock so soon...I'm not sure I'm ready."

"You likely won't be sure for many more years," Tywin said. "But you're ready enough. You've been a dedicated student ever since we returned from the north. I'm not concerned about you."

Arya swallowed hard. A vote of confidence from Tywin seemed a rare thing and she would not debate him here. If he had any worries about her taking over the Rock, he would tell her honestly.

"Ah. I almost forgot." Tywin set something on the desk. "You left this in the garden."

Arya looked down to see her knife. She had wondered if anyone had retrieved it. "Right, I did. In an assassin's wrist." She accepted the blade and slipped it into her belt. "Thank you. I was going to go looking for it. I quite like this knife."

"Oberyn Martell found it and brought it to me," Tywin said. "So that he could remind me that I owe him a debt, no doubt."

"I'm the one who owes him the debt," Arya said.

"Then I'll leave it to you to pay it," Tywin said. "He will be going to Casterly Rock with Princess Myrcella. Before he leaves, tell him that you will arrange time for him to speak to the Mountain."

Arya's eyes widened. "Arrange...really?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "It's the only payment he will accept, and he will take it better from you. I will never be able to smooth things over with the Martells, but it's possible that you might. This is a good first step."

 _I was planning on giving him the Mountain without your permission,_ Arya thought. _But with your permission is better._

"And you won't miss your attack dog?" Arya asked.

"There are others like him," Tywin said. "Though not many as large. Be careful when you arrange the meeting. Ser Gregor might not take it well." He tapped two fingers against the desk. "And don't let Oberyn have too long for him. I don't want him to have time enough for an interrogation."

Of course he didn't. If the Mountain told the truth about his orders then it would only make relations between Dorne and the West tenser-even if they had every reason to be. Arya didn't argue though. She was just glad she would have a chance to remove another name from her list. "I'll handle it."

"Good," Tywin said. "You'll have to handle Euron Greyjoy as well. Find a way to stop his raids on the coast. You can ally with your brother for that, since the Starks also seem to be his targets. It shouldn't be too trying. He doesn't have the funds or the numbers to be a true threat."

"A good test then," Arya said. "What if he tries to assassinate me again?"

"He tried it once and failed. It will be harder for him to get an assassin into Casterly Rock," Tywin said. "But I assume you will take the necessary precautions."

"I will," Arya said. "Do you..." she trailed off then, not quite sure how to phrase her next thought. Tywin raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"I just...I'm surprised you trust me to handle all of this," Arya said.

"You're a Lannister now, Arya" Tywin said. "I wouldn't have married you to my son if I didn't trust you to carry my name."

Arya felt a small shiver go through her. A Lannister. She knew that marrying Jaime made her a Lannister of course. But it was the first time anyone had said it so bluntly. Lannister was a name that she hated for so long, but for Tywin it was something else. It represented his family and legacy. He had given her that name and now he expected her to wear it like a true lion.

 _So this is what his high expectations feel like,_ Arya thought. She wondered how long she would be able to meet them.

* * *

 _Why did I say that,_ Jaime found himself wondering for a long time after he had left the Tower of the Hand. And he still didn't have an answer. It had been a while since he had thought much on Cersei. There was too much else to think about. But hearing his father speak of her again...he felt all his long buried anger rise up anew.

Jaime had always been the golden son and Tyrion the despised one. Because of that, they both received a certain amount of attention from their father, even if it was negative. But Cersei...in many ways, Cersei was the forgotten daughter. The one Tywin ignored and neglected in favor of Jaime. The one who he shipped off into a marriage which benefited him and his legacy. And even though Cersei had tried harder than anyone to please him-to meet his high expectations-he never seemed to notice.

More than once, Jaime had seen the effects of his neglect. After their mother died, it was natural for Cersei to want comfort from their father. But Tywin had no comfort to give and he seemed to actively avoid her. Cersei had turned to Jaime instead. She had poured out all of her woes and grief and tears to him and Jaime had listened.

 _You're the only one left who truly cares for me,_ she used to say. _The only one._

Jaime had liked being the 'only one', at the time. He liked feeling needed by her. But at some point, he wasn't enough anymore. When had that been exactly? When he was taken hostage by the north? When he lost his hand? It was so long ago, it was hard to say when they had really drifted.

 _When Joffrey died._

Yes, that was it. It had started before then, but that was the real moment that they seemed to break. Because Cersei had gone after Tyrion and asked Jaime to stand with her and he hadn't. So she decided to go on her own and leave him behind. And before they could reconcile, father sent her away.

Jaime exhaled, rubbing a hand through his hair. He caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror on the desk. He had changed a great deal from the man Cersei once loved. He wondered if she still had loved him at all.

And did he...did he still love her at all?

The door creaked and he turned to see Arya slipping back into the room. Jaime straightened slightly.

"Well? Was my father particularly enraged at my exit?"

"Annoyed is a better word for it," Arya said. "Are you...all right?"

"Fine," Jaime said. "I really don't know what came over me."

"She's your sister," Arya said, rubbing her thumb over the flat side of her Braavosi knife. His father must have returned it to her. "You felt defensive. It makes sense."

Jaime nodded absently, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.

"Do you still love her?" Arya asked. The question was abrupt and Jaime blinked in surprise, not sure he had heard it correctly.

"What?"

"You heard me," Arya kept studying her knife. "Do you still love her?"

Jaime was silent for a long moment as he tried to think of how to answer. "Not...not in the same way. Cersei and I have changed so much. We can't return to what we had. But yes, in some ways, I still love her."

Arya nodded once. Her expression was completely detached and impassive but somehow that felt like a mask. Jaime had become familiar enough with Arya's expressions to know she was trying to remain collected. "So if you had a chance to be with her...if the world accepted it and you could go back to how you were...would you?"

"I don't think it matters," Jaime said. "That's impossible. Like I said. There's nothing left for us."

Arya looked up at him. "That wasn't what I asked."

Jaime's brow furrowed. Why did this feel like a trap? "If I could turn back time and make us both as we used to be...maybe I would." He shook his head. "But it doesn't matter because I can't. None of it matters."

"Of course not," Arya tucked her blade back into her belt. "It was just curiosity. Forget that I asked."

There was a flat note to her voice that reminded him a bit of his father when was irritated. Jaime rose from the bed. "What is it?"

Arya shook her head. "Nothing at all."

It was a lie. It wasn't even a very good one. Jaime reached out for her shoulder but she backed out of his way.

"Actually...this room feels a bit cramped right now. I need a bit of air." She forced a smile. "I'll be back soon."

Then, before he could reply, she ducked out of the room again.

Jaime let out a long sigh and sat back down on the bed rubbing his forehead. Even after everything, there was still a wall up between him and Arya. There had always been so many walls, and each time he got past one, she erected another in its place, all while pretending there was no wall at all.

Cersei had always done the same thing, so Jaime thought he would be used to it by now. But then, he and Arya weren't quite like Cersei. They weren't like anyone. Everything about their relationship felt like uncertain ground that neither knew how to tread.

Walls were to be expected, he supposed. But he was getting very tired of them.

* * *

Arya didn't know why she had left the room so abruptly. She just had a sudden need for fresh air. Now that spring had truly come, the nights were pleasant and at that moment, her chambers had seemed stifling.

She entertained the idea that maybe she had left because of something Jaime had said, but she dismissed the thought quickly. His past relationship with Cersei didn't matter because it had been broken beyond repair. They wouldn't even see each other any time soon, so it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Arya strode around the corner, nearly knocking into someone in the process. Her hand went immediately to her knife though she did not draw it. She did not want to harm some poor servant.

"Lady Arya." That was Oberyn Martell's voice. Arya looked up at him, blinking a few times.

"Prince Oberyn...my apologies."

"No apology needed. You didn't even pull a blade on me this time," Oberyn studied her. "Are you well?"

Arya swallowed hard. "Yes I just...needed a bit of air." She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "I'm glad I ran into you, actually. I haven't gotten a chance to thank you. If you hadn't notice that man, I would have drunk the wine and been dead before anyone could help me."

Oberyn's mouth twitched into a smile. "There's no need to thank me. I couldn't very well let a bride die on her wedding day." He leaned against the wall. "Besides, it was a particularly gruesome poison. The kind that can drop an opponent in an instant."

"My father used to say that poison was a coward's weapon," Arya said.

"Or a clever man's weapon," Oberyn said. "Sometimes, when the fight is stacked against you, a blade is not enough. Poison can save your life. It can ensure your opponents death even if they kill you, or slow them down. It can drop them before they have a chance to draw against you."

Arya studied him. "You know a lot about poisons,"

"I studied them for a time, yes," Oberyn said.

"And you coat your blades with them, don't you?" Arya asked.

Oberyn shrugged. "When I have a need. It can help you in close quarters you know. When you feel trapped, getting one hit on your opponent can save you."

Arya swallowed hard. Yes, she imagined if she had just a bit of poison when she faced Ramsay, she could have ended him much sooner. But she hadn't even had a knife, much less poison. "You mentioned poisons that could...slow an opponent down. That one seems intriguing."

"Does it?" Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "It's a poison with many names in many different languages. In the common tongue it translates loosely to 'weighted blood'."

"Weighted blood," Arya repeated. "Why is it called that?"

"Because if it gets into your blood it makes your whole body feel heavier," Oberyn said. "In small doses it isn't deadly but it does make one's opponent slower. In great doses...well it shuts down everything. Makes it versatile. Sometimes, your opponent won't even know they've been poisoned before you kill them."

That would be an ideal way to even a fight against someone faster or bigger than her. And maybe a way to subdue the Mountain if she needed to. Arya entwined her fingers together. "Interesting. And...theoretically...where would I find some poison of that sort?"

"Hmm...theoretically, you could always ask the Grand Maester," Oberyn said. "It is not as common here as milk of the poppy because it is more dangerous, but he might have some. Who would you...theoretically use it on?"

"Anyone who tries to attack me in a tight space," Arya said. "Or perhaps a very large target." She raised her chin. "I hear that you are making a trip to the Rock with Princess Myrcella."

"I am, though I thought about leaving my men to take the journey," Oberyn said. "I am not so anxious to go the west."

"You should," Arya said. "I'll be heading west soon as well. And I think if you go there, I might be able to pay my debt to you very soon."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes," Arya said. "If you can endure the trip."

"Oh, I think I can," Oberyn smiled. "It's very kind of you Lady Arya...to make good on your debt so quickly."

"Well, I'm sympathetic to the reward you want," Arya said. "You'll wait for me to arrive then?"

"I will," Oberyn said.

"Good," Arya said. She felt her head clear a bit and some of the tensions leave her shoulders. There were many uncertain matters occupying her. Her marriage, the Rock, her new name...But her list was an old familiar thing, and it was comforting to think of crossing off another name.

* * *

 _ **A/N: We've got a lot of character conflicts and tension happening. I hope they won't play any sort of rule in the new arc ;) Hope that you guys enjoyed that chapter and this week I AM answering my anonymous reviews:**_

 ** _Guest:_** _Maybe not a TOTAL 180 so much as...Arya has made him bearable? Yeah, that seems right. The Starks can tolerate him. That's magic all on it's own lol_

 ** _Guest:_** _I do, it's just very slow burn and gradual. Never totally the focus but they will have romantic stuff._

 ** _Morgan:_** _I'm answering both of your past reviews here. So glad that you enjoyed the Catelyn sections of the wedding, especially since you usually don't like it. You're not the only one who's told me you're lowkey shipping Catelyn and Tywin lol. I mean they have interesting conversations and some similarities. Would be very complicated of course._

 _Oberyn does deserve better. His death was the most devastating to me in the show because I love him. Euron was a bit of a disappointment in the show though he got better in season seven. In the book he's legit freaky so I'm kind of pulling on both portrayals to write him. Glad you liked the Tommen and Sansa scenes in chapter seventy! As for the stairs of Casterly Rock...there are certainly SEVERAL large stairs ;)_

 ** _Marshmallowsme:_** _I'm answering both of your past reviews here. I lulled people into thinking things were peaceful at Sansa's wedding then sprang it on them here lol. So glad you enjoyed the other events at the wedding as well._

 _As for Bran's fall, I put in an earlier author's note that in this story, Jaime never confessed to attempting to kill Bran, so no one knows except for him and Cersei. Small detail I needed to change in order to make the fic work. Thanks for the review!_

 ** _Wrighteuse:_** _Ah, thank you so much! I always was worried about selling people on this ship so thank god, lol. Thanks for your review!_

 ** _Kat Morgan:_** _And thank YOU for reviewing!_

 ** _bb985:_** _They sure are!_

 ** _Zoe Emily:_** _I'm answering both of your past reviews here. Thanks so much! Of course, you have to have SOME trouble at a Game of Thrones wedding. Certainly could be worse there. And, as you later found out, it came from Cersei, with the Euron Greyjoy named attached! Glad you loved the Jaime and Arya stuff as well. They really do respect each other. As for Cersei's plot, it will be coming into the light very soon!_

 ** _Guest:_** _No worries. I will complete the story. I've come too far to stop now and I am a very stubborn person. I really appreciate the compliment and I'm glad that you enjoy Arya's portrayal so much :)_

 _ **That's all for that! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	72. Chapter 72: The Piece in the Shadows

_**A/N: What's up everyone! It's my BIRTHDAY today :D So you all have to be nice to me. Just kidding, you are already very nice lol. Got a fun chapter coming at you today...and by fun, I mean the plot is about to get rolling lol. But it's got more of that confusing Jaime and Arya relationship stuff, so hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 72: The Piece in the Shadows**

Over the next few days, Arya once again found herself in the position of having to say farewell. The first of her goodbyes went to Sansa, who needed to return soon to the Reach. After all, she was a new member of the Tyrells and she hadn't had much of a chance to meet all of the lords and learn the politics of the region. Now that the weddings were over with, it was time for the real work to begin.

"Best of luck when you go to the Rock," Sansa murmured as she hugged Arya. "Send me a raven once you're there and tell me what it's like."

"I will," Arya said. "And if you need anything, just ask. Now that I'm married to Jaime I suddenly have a lot more authority."

"That you do," Sansa smiled softly, pulling back at gently squeezing her shoulders. "This is where reshaping the world begins, Arya."

Arya bid farewell to the other Tyrells as well, including Olenna who stated that she was glad Arya was not dead so soon after taking on the Lannister name, and Willas who she charged with taking good care of her sister. Then she watched them depart from the courtyard, hoping that she would be able to visit High Garden again soon. It wasn't very far from Casterly Rock, after all.

The next day, her brother and mother left as well. Of course, her brother was anxious to return home to deal with the Euron Greyjoy problem since Euron had attacked northern shores more than once. But that did not make the goodbye any easier.

"We'll deal with him together once I go west," Arya told Robb as he prepared his horse. "The Lannisters and Starks have a shared enemy again."

"That seems to keep happening doesn't it?" Robb sighed. "It least it keeps us at peace. I'm not eager to fight another war against the Lannisters."

"You'll never have to," Arya said. "I won't allow it."

Robb's mouth twitched into a small smile.

"Be careful," her mother said, embracing her. "Whether you're in a castle or on the road. Euron Greyjoy came after you once and he could try again."

"The same to you," Arya murmured against her mother's shoulder. "He could be after Starks in general as revenge for his family. Travel safely and send a raven when you arrive home."

"We will," Catelyn pulled back to look at her, cupping her face between her hands. "Ah...I'll miss you very much."

Arya swallowed thickly. "I'll miss you too."

"Take care then," Catelyn said. "And keep in touch when you can. You're not technically a ward anymore, so Tywin Lannister can't keep you from us."

"I don't think Lord Tywin would care about that distinction," Robb said.

"Well then, if he tries, he will have to contend with me," Catelyn said.

Arya laughed once. "I appreciate your willingness to fight with him on my behalf. But there won't be a need. I can handle him."

Catelyn sighed. "Amazingly enough, I think you can." She brushed Arya's hair back. "We'll see each other again."

"Soon, I hope," Arya said.

They dragged out their farewell as long as they possibly could. But soon enough, her mother and brother swung onto their horses and made for the gate, along with the rest of the Stark men they had brought with them. Arya watched the gate long after the last Stark banner had disappeared, feeling suddenly very alone.

Saying farewell was never going to get easier, no matter how many times she practiced. Because in the back of her mind, she always wondered if it would be the last time she would see them. She had not valued her last conversation with her father because she had not known it would be the last. Now she was so paranoid that each time she said goodbye was the last time.

 _No. Not the last time,_ she thought. _Not today._

* * *

Soon after her family departed, King Tommen, Princess Myrcella and their sizable escort left for the Rock. Margaery elected to stay behind in the capitol to attend to matters in Tommen's absence. Usually, it would not take long to travel to the Westerlands, but since Tommen planned to make many stops at the various keeps along the way, Tywin estimated it would take about a moon's turn.

While they waited to hear if Tommen would convince Cersei to return to King's Landing, Arya returned to her old practice. She worked with every weapon in her arsenal, from the bow to her knives, to both of her swords. She sparred with Syrio and Jaime and even the air when neither of them was available. And when she was not fighting, she was studying the Westerlands, making use of Tywin's knowledge for as long as she could before she left.

She continued to grow stronger and steadier, and she was sleeping much better. She wasn't sure why, but since the wedding she had not had nearly so many nightmares. Perhaps because she was no longer anticipating the dreaded event. It was over and done with now.

There was still the matter of the bedding of course, and she and Jaime both seemed to be diligently avoiding that subject. Arya knew that the consummation was important and a natural step, and yet every time she thought of it, she grew nervous. If Jaime felt any such nerves, he did not show it, but he also did not attempt to suggest the bedding. She appreciated that at least. Most husbands would have insisted on the bedding by now.

 _Most husbands would not spar with me either,_ Arya considered. And she and Jaime did an awful lot of sparring. When they did not have words to say, they picked up their swords and any uncomfortable silences turned to easy quips and contagious laughter. Their marriage was forgotten. Their pasts were forgotten. The persistent questions like 'what happens now' and 'how will things change between us' were forgotten. And for a short while, it was just them, together in that familiar room, trying to hit each other with sparring swords.

Arya cursed herself for entertaining the notion that things might be quieting in her life. Because it was on a very peaceful day that the letter was delivered to Tywin in his office. Arya looked up from a book on the Western economy as Tywin turned the letter in his hand.

"Is it from Tommen?" she asked.

"From Kevan," Tywin said, splitting the seal with his thumb and unfolding the paper. Then he began to read. Arya studied his face as he did, watching his brow wrinkle and anger burn behind his eyes.

She closed her book. "What is it?"

He did not answer immediately. He set down the note and unrolled some parchment of his own, beginning to write. Arya stood, pacing over to the desk.

"Lord Tywin? Is the king all right?"

"The king is fine. This isn't about him," Tywin said. "Euron Greyjoy has attacked Fair Isle."

"The Farmans," Arya said. "He has enough ships for that? I thought he only attacked with a few at a time."

"It's not just Greyjoy ships. He has mercenaries as well. Expensive ones. I can't imagine how he could afford them." Tywin did not pause in his writing. "But then, no one knows what Euron Greyjoy has been doing during his banishment. Perhaps he came across considerable wealth."

"And now he's using it to attack Fair Isle," Arya said. "Why?"

"It's a strategic position for him. The Greyjoys know ships and islands better than anyone. If he wishes to launch a larger assault on the west, it's a good place to start." Tywin finished his letter and waved it a bit to let the ink dry. "Not to mention, crippling our navy will make taking back the Iron Islands easier."

"But why strike at the Lannisters?" Arya asked. "When he tried to assassinate me, I assumed it was an attack on my family, since Robb is the one who put down the Greyjoy rebellion. I know the crown ordered the attack but..."

"He's not driven merely by revenge," Tywin said. "Think. Who has territory on the western coast near the Iron Islands?"

"The Starks, the Tullys and the Lannisters," Arya said.

"Correct," Tywin said. "But if Euron has been following the events of the last year in Westeros, he knows that the Starks and Tullys are broken by civil war, making the Lannisters the only major threat to his reclamation of the Iron Islands. Namely our navy, which is based primarily between Fair Isle and Casterly Rock."

"So it's strategy, not vengeance." Arya's brow furrowed. "But where does trying to assassinate me play into his strategy?"

"I don't know," Tywin said. "The point is that the Farmans have asked for aide from Casterly Rock and the Crown. They have more ships than the Greyjoys but the Greyjoys are clever and even if we win, it could be a devastating blow. Better to come in with larger numbers and win decisively."

"Right," Arya said. "So what's the plan then?"

"I'll ride with reinforcements from the crown and direct a counter attack on Greyjoy," Tywin said. "You and Jaime will stay here and wait for word from Tommen. Once he sends word, you will both ride to Casterly Rock."

"Do you want us to sit at the Rock while you wage war?" Arya raised her eyebrows, incredulous at the notion.

"Hardly," Tywin said. "Euron Greyjoy is a dishonorable man by nature and not given to straight forward attacks. He will likely attack us on another front and when he does, you and Jaime will handle it."

"Another front." Arya pulled at the three fingers on her right hand. "Like Cornfield?"

Tywin did not reply for a moment. He studied the letter he had written, as if to see if the ink had dried. "This isn't the Farman problem. In this case, we don't have to choose." He thought for a moment longer. "Though the Greyjoys are raiders by nature, and attacking our food would be a wise choice. He would have to travel inland first without being seen, which is difficult with an army of any size. But whether he attacks Cornfield or Silverhill or any other keep, you and Jaime will be prepared to respond." He seemed to judge the ink dry enough and folded the letter and sealed it. "Show them what Lannisters do to their enemies."

Arya nodded once. "I will."

Her whole body was buzzing as she left the office and went to give Jaime the news. She could not tell the emotions she felt just then. It wasn't panic actually. It was nothing close to the helplessness and fear she felt when she faced the Botlons. No, this was a chance to prove herself against an enemy. This time she wouldn't be locked in a tower wondering what was happening outside.

She had her blades. She had her health. She had her freedom.

She had everything she needed to strike back.

Lord Tywin left the very next day, and the capital was abuzz with talk of yet _another_ war. War was beginning to become the norm for the small folk and the nobles alike. Though at least, for most of them, this war was irrelevant.

The King and the King's Hand being absent from the capital was in some ways unusual, but Margaery was quick to take on the necessary responsibilities. She was the queen after all, and she did not hesitate to sit in for her husband on the iron throne. Arya watched her hold court more than once and she had to admit, she was quite good-the kind of queen that was stern and strong but with a courteous smile.

"Do you think Tommen is safe?" Margaery asked. "He's in the west. I hope Greyjoy hasn't gone after him."

"Tommen was travelling by land," Arya said. "He should be all right. And if anyone had attacked Casterly Rock, we would know."

"Yes, that's true," Margaery murmured. "Still...I hope he returns soon."

She actually seemed quite genuinely worried. It wasn't that Arya doubted her devotion to Tommen. Perhaps she always assumed Margaery was more devoted to the role of queen than her actual husband. Maybe that _had_ truly grown fond of each other with time.

Meanwhile, Arya and Jaime waited for word from Tommen or Tywin so that they could know their next move. Jaime was getting more than a bit impatient.

"We should have heard something from Tommen by now," Jaime said one night, pacing around their bed. "Besides, this is war. Does it matter if Cersei has left the Rock or not? We should ride there today. I'm sure we can keep you two separated. It's a very large castle."

"As much as I hate waiting...I think it's for the best," Arya said, perching on the edge of the mattress. "If we go to the Rock, that puts all of the Lannister forces in the same small area. Better to spread out in case the Greyjoys try to attack somewhere else."

"The Greyjoys don't specialize in land attacks," Jaime said. "They swoop in from the sea, they pillage, they retreat to their ships."

"The Greyjoys took Winterfell once," Arya said. "That was very far inland. I wouldn't put it past them."

Jaime ran his fingers anxiously through his hair. "No...neither would I. But I don't like sitting still in the middle of a war."

"I don't like sitting still any more than you," Arya stood, stepping in front of him and placing her hands on his arms to stop his pacing. He paused, though he seemed ready to keep walking at any moment. "But we don't want to rush to make any moves. That's what sent my brother to the Twins instead of the Boltons."

Jaime let out a long sigh, some of the tension leaving his body. "I know. It's just..." he trailed off as he tried to find the words. "The Westerlands are my home. I should be there, fighting for them."

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. She knew what he was feeling. When the north was at war, she spent most of her time captive and when she wasn't captive, she was severely injured. Through it all, she so desperately wanted to fight back. She _needed_ to fight back. Jaime had to be feeling the same thing now.

"You'll get your chance," she murmured at last. "And when it comes to it, I'll fight with you."

A faint smile crossed Jaime's face then. "I wonder what the western lords will think of the new Lady of the Rock fighting in the mud for them."

"If they are smart, they will think of how _grateful_ they are that I'm defending them," Arya said.

"Some of the lords will push back," Jaime said.

"In the middle of a war? It seems like they should have other priorities."

Jaime chuckled, pressing a short kiss to her forehead. That was becoming a more common gesture between them. It had ever since their wedding night. Maybe because her forehead was the easiest thing for him to reach. "Thank you."

Arya's brow furrowed and she looked up at him. "For what?"

"You manage to take my mind off of more pressing matters," Jaime said.

Arya's mouth twitched into a small smile. "I'm returning the favor. You've done the same for me."

The next few days continued without word. Then, at last, they received a scroll from Tommen. He was safe at Casterly Rock, but Cersei was worried about him leaving again in the middle of the war. Raiders had periodically come inland and travelling could put Tommen in danger. Arya hated to admit it, but Cersei had a good point. Raiders would see a royal procession and seek to steal a hostage from among them. Tommen would be an easy target.

That left Jaime and Arya with a dilemma. Did they wait in King's Landing for Tywin's orders or did they go to the Rock, despite the presence of Cersei?

"I don't think Cersei would have time to fight with you while the Greyjoys are knocking on our door," Jaime said. "She has better priorities than that."

"No...I think she would make peace," Arya said. Still, something felt off. Something kept telling her to wait in King's Landing to hear more. If they left for the Rock now and Tywin sent word, they might miss his instruction. "But I'm...not sure..."

"Father did tell us we should go to the Rock when we heard from Tommen," Jaime pointed out.

"Yes. He did," Arya pulled at her fingers. "Let's wait a few more days. If we hear nothing else, then we'll go."

Jaime seemed satisfied with a few days. And ultimately, Arya's instincts proved true. The very next day, they received a letter from Harys Swyft from Cornfield. Greyjoy raiders had surrounded the keep and were threatening to put the cornfields to the torch in a fortnight if they did not open the gate.

Arya felt almost as if she was in a dream. First the Farmans. Now the Swyfts. This was the exact scenario that Tywin had given her before. The Farmans and their navy, the Swifts and their corn. Who do you choose? Who do you save?

She had asked him once if the scenario would ever play out and he had insisted it was unlikely. After all, there usually wasn't a situation where the Lannisters could only send one army one place. And yet...and yet...

 _This cannot be a coincidence._

"This really is exactly like the Farman problem," Jaime sighed from where he was packing his things. They were meant to ride out that night. There was no time to rest. "I suppose my father really does plan for everything."

Arya blinked and slowly turned to look him. "I...did your father test you with the Farman problem too?"

"Oh yes, he tested all of us with it at one point," Jaime said. "One of his favorite trick questions. Gods, it's been years since I thought of it. Did he really test you with that same dilemma?"

"Yes," Arya said, her voice a bit soft. "Yes he did."

"A choice between food and military," Jaime said. "I got the answer wrong, which wasn't much of a surprise." Jaime exhaled. "And then he used it as a moment to lecture me on how I valued military strength too much."

Arya rubbed her palms together. "Did he...give Cersei the Farman problem?"

"Oh yes, he tested Cersei as well. She got it wrong just like me, for much the same reasons, though I recall father was harsher with her. She raged about the problem for days afterward." Jaime said. "About how he would have called her wrong no matter how she answered. About how it was a foolish question. About how I couldn't find the right answers either, so why should he be so cruel to her?" Jaime exhaled. "I can't believe I forgot about that whole ordeal. It seems a long time ago."

Yes...a long time ago. But Cersei seemed like the kind of person who would remember such a slight. Another lecture from her father about how she could never be his heir. She would never forget it. She might even...use it against him...

It was like the last piece of a puzzle that had been tormenting Arya for many moons. Suddenly, it clicked into place and she saw the whole picture. The mysterious southern traitor working with the Boltons. The plot to marry her to Ramsay. The assassination attempt. The current attacks. Now she understood and she hated herself for not seeing it sooner. _How_ had she not seen it sooner?

Cersei was the southern traitor. She was one of the few who knew about Jaime and Arya's engagement right from the beginning. She had a motivation to strike at the north. She had motivation to strike at her father after he had sent her away. She had reason to believe that Arya's abduction would provoke her father into action. She had been at the Rock without much supervision and had the resources to fund the Boltons in their rebellion. The Martells, the Tyrells, Varys...none of them had quite fit the mold, but she did.

It explained so many other things as well. An attempted assassination on Arya seemed like a vengeful move because it was. Cersei was working with Euron Greyjoy, but she was the one who wanted Arya dead. She even had the assassin blame Euron to cover up her part in it...because she knew if the assassin's employer was left mysterious someone might suspect her.

And now the Greyjoys attacked the Farmans and the Swyfts, just like in the old trick question her Tywin gave to her many years ago. This was Cersei's challenge to him, as if to say: _You tested us. Now it's your turn to solve the Farman problem, father._

The knowledge absolutely rocked Arya to her core and she stood absolutely still in silent in the corner, unable to process all of the emotions she was feeling. Shock, confusion, anger, _hatred_. Cersei was the reason...the reason the Boltons had taken her. She was the reason that Tailisa had been killed and her home split by Civil War. Because she gave them resources. Because she gave them a push to act on their anger.

Jaime seemed to recognize her silence and he looked up from his packing. "Arya? What is it?"

Arya nearly blurted it all out. But she stopped herself when she remembered who she was talking to. No matter how much he had changed, Jaime was still the same in some ways. He still cared for his sister and he would not be able to accept that she had betrayed the family. If it had taken Arya so long to see it, he would be completely blind to it. They didn't have time to argue. They didn't have time to fight.

So, quick as a flash, she pulled every one of her emotions back inside of her and shook her head. "Nothing...I was just thinking that I got the question wrong too. I guess no one got it right."

"Something's wrong," Jaime said. "Arya, you're shaking." She felt his hand on her upper arm, gentle and comforting. She wanted to tell him but she was afraid to say anything. She was afraid he would not be on her side if she said it now.

Arya had to think of a believable lie and she had to think of it fast. Her mind raced for a long moment before she sighed. "I guess...it's just settling on me that I'm about ride into a battle. The North doesn't count...I was injured and unable to fight. I've never actually done this before." She smiled weakly. "And now your father expects so much from me. It's intimidating."

Jaime's mouth twitched. "Now you know how it feels." He squeezed her arm lightly then stepped back to organizing his things. "You'll meet his expectations. You have a better chance than any of his children."

It took everything in Arya not to let out a breath of relief. He had bought it. Thank the gods he had bought it.

It wasn't as if she didn't plan to tell him. Of course she did. But she needed time to process her theory on her own to make sure that it was infallible, before she told Jaime. He would accept nothing less than certainty. And if Arya sowed the seeds of doubt into Jaime's mind now, he would not be able to focus on saving Cornfield. He would want to rush immediately to the Rock to see if Arya was right.

No. First, they would ride to Cornfield and deal with the raiders. And then they would ride to the coast to find Lord Tywin. By then, Arya would be ready to tell them what she knew and they could come up with a strategy together.

But for now she set to packing, trying not to let any of her thoughts show on her face. But the truth still staggered her. Arya had underestimated Cersei's ability to work in the shadows and her hatred of her. She would not do so again.

 _You ruined my home and you nearly ruined me,_ Arya thought as she strapped her knives to her belt. _But I'm a Lannister like you now. And I'm going to pay that debt._

* * *

 _ **A/N: Vengeance Arya is in full swing! But she's not going to blurt it out until she's 100% sure. She just had this five second revelation and it is wrecking her. But she also has to convince 'masters of denial' Tywin and Jaime that it's true since Tywin has clearly been deleting the possibility from his mind completely. Should be fun!**_

 _ **No anon reviews today but I'll hopefully do the same thing I did last week and answer double reviews over the weekend. In the meantime, reviews, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	73. Chapter 73: Enough

_**A/N: Alrighty, the next chapter! Time to head west and deal with that Farman problem. Thanks last time for ALL of your birthday reviews. You guys piled them on me so I definetily haven't had time to answer them all. My apologies for that. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**_

 **Chapter 73: Enough**

Arya did not have much time before they left King's Landing. No more than an hour. So as soon as she had a chance, she slipped away from Jaime and went to the Tower of the Hand. There, she wrote a letter to Lord Tywin, detailing her theory about Cersei. As she wrote it out, it only seemed more likely, and yet she knew that Tywin would be easier to convince in person. She did not intend to send this letter right away. It was only in case of emergencies.

After she wrote the first letter, she wrote two more. One to Sansa and one to Robb. It explained her suspicion of Cersei but in fewer words. She knew that they would not need any convincing at all.

When she had finished the letters, she went to the Queen's chambers. Margaery was fortunately still awake, though quite surprised to see her there.

"Lady Arya. What brings you here at this time of night?"

"I don't have much time," Arya said. "May I come in? Please."

Margaery nodded and stepped aside, murmuring a few reassuring words to her guards before she closed the door. "I thought you and Jaime were meant to leave tonight."

"We are. But I needed to give you these first." Arya handed her the three sealed letters. "If anything should happen to me in the battle to come, it is vital that you send these. One to Lord Tywin, one to my brother Robb, and one to my sister."

"What do these letters contain?" Margaery said.

"I won't say yet," Arya said. "With any luck, you won't need to deliver these letters. I hope to speak to Tywin in person. But I won't leave it to chance. As I said, if something happens...I'm trusting you to send them."

"I will," Margaery took the letters into her hands. "Does this have something to do with the war? Or...something to do with Tommen?"

"No, nothing to do with Tommen. Not directly anyway." Arya's brow furrowed. "You've been very concerned for him lately."

Margaery straightened slightly, lifting her chin. "He is my husband. It's a wife's duty to be concerned for them."

"Please, your grace. I know the difference between duty and genuine worry," Arya said. "You're good at blurring the line. Most people can't even tell, but I can."

Margaery exhaled, dropping her gaze. Her hand pressed against her stomach. "I'm...pregnant. That's the reason."

Arya's eyes widened. She supposed it wasn't a surprise. Tommen and Margaery had been married for a few years now and producing an heir was important in any royal line. She glanced from Margaery's hand to her face. "Have you told anyone?"

"The Grand Maester knows. But it hasn't been announced. I hoped I might be able to tell Tommen in person," she said.

"You will," Arya said. "He's not the one in danger."

Even if Cersei was trying to rip apart the Lannister family, she knew the woman would _never_ hurt her children. She was keeping them at Casterly Rock until after she had won her game, but they were not her intended targets.

Margaery nodded once, pressing the letters to her breast. "You can leave it to me. If anything should happen to you, I'll send these letters. But be sure that nothing happens to you, Arya. Tommen would miss you dearly." She swallowed hard. "And so would I."

Arya gave her a small smile. "I will do my best." She bowed shortly. "I must go."

Once she had delivered the letters, she went next to Grand Maester Pycelle. The old man was still in his office when she arrived, bent over a very large book. He a blinked a few times when she entered.

"Ah. Lady Arya. How may I help you?"

"I need something from your stores," Arya said. "I believe it's called 'Weighted Blood'. I hoped you'd have some."

The Maester looked taken aback. "A dangerous substance. Why would you ever need such a thing?"

 _Because I will take every possible weapon into this fight,_ Arya said. _I won't make the mistake of playing fair when I'm dealing with Cersei._

But she knew she could not say that. So instead, she shrugged. "Lord Tywin's orders. He said I should deliver him a vile. I don't know what he needs it for. I did not presume to ask."

"Well, if Lord Tywin needs it, of course." The Grand Maester stood slowly to his feet and creaked over to a long shelf. He had vials of all different shapes and colors. His wrinkled old fingers closed around a small red one with a silver top and he passed it to Arya. "Travel with it carefully. There is only a small amount but it is potent."

"Can it do damage just through the skin?" Arya asked.

"No. But it is most dangerous when passed through the blood. If it comes in contact with any open wound, the effects will set in quickly and the victim will be dead within an hour," Pycelle said. "It works in a drink as well, but the effects take longer to set in. A few drops will only paralyze someone briefly. Anymore will be deadly."

 _Good,_ Arya thought. _It will go well on one of my knives._ She would have to thank Oberyn for this suggestion later if it happened to save her life.

"Thank you," Arya said. "I'll be careful."

With the poison in hand, she returned quickly to her room to gather the rest of her things with only a few moments to spare. And despite the fact that she was about to ride out to war, she felt calm. Even if she died, Cersei's treachery would be known to the people who mattered. And if Cersei made the mistake of trying to take Arya alive at any point...well she would have a poisoned knife up her sleeve.

She would not go down without taking Cersei with her.

* * *

Cornfield was three days of hard riding from the Capital, and they stopped only for brief breaks to rest and eat. The Greyjoy raiders had promised to burn the fields in a fortnight. Considering the time it took the raven to deliver the letter, they likely only had a week remaining to them. Maybe more, but they did not want to take the chance.

Arya did not complain on the trip. She was used to functioning on little sleep ever since the Dreadfort, and thoughts of Cersei kept her alert and determined. She spent many hours of the ride turning over her theory in her mind, trying to find any possible holes. Anything that Cersei couldn't have known or something she wouldn't do. But this all fit her perfectly and Arya could not find any gaps in her theory.

She rehearsed arguments in her head none the less. She knew exactly the kinds of things that Tywin would counter with. He would deny that Cersei would ever stand against him. He would ask why it should matter to Cersei that her brother marry. He would ask why, if she was so angry at _him_ , she attacked the north first. And for each theoretical argument, Arya created a counterpoint in her mind.

When they had no choice but to rest, they stopped and made camp. There was no time to visit any keeps along the way, so usually they ended up just outside small villages. Whenever they were paused, Arya could always sense the soldiers sneaking glances at her over their shoulders. It was strange for a lady to travel with the army. No doubt, they had expected her to take a gentler path toward Casterly Rock. What purpose, after all, could Jaime have for bringing his wife along to war?

She bore their stares, but she also stayed near the edge of the camp to avoid them, or in the tent that she and Jaime shared.

"None of them have questioned me directly at least," she muttered.

"It's the lords that will give you trouble, not the soldiers. They would never question a Lannister," Jaime said.

"Well, not out loud," Arya said.

Jaime inclined his head but did not argue.

Arya did wish that she had more of an opportunity to take in the landscape of the West. This was the place she had been reading about for many moons now, and it was the land she was meant to govern. The mountains against the sun, the rocky terrain racing beneath her as she rode, the sparse forests and the little villages set between them. This was a place unfamiliar to her, and yet she would soon call it home and the people who populated it would be her subjects. She could not help but watch the smallfolk, trying to see how they went about their days and lived their lives.

The smallfolk were just as interested in her as she was in them. Of course, Lannister soldiers attracted attention and most could recognize Jaime just from the stories. He was a very distinctive man. But Arya was an unfamiliar noblewoman travelling with an army, wearing breaches rather than a long, beautiful gown. She wondered if they knew who she was. Did they know of Arya Stark or Arya Lannister? Or was she just a passing face to them?

When they reached the southern corner of the Westwood one morning, Jaime commanded that they stop and make camp, even though they had only been riding for a few hours. While Jaime gave orders to a few of his men, Arya paced to the edge of the perimeter, taking a long draught of water from her canteen. They had stopped very close to a ruined little village that was only half standing. A few paces away, a carriage was overturned, but Arya caught a flash of movement from beneath. There was a wild haired little girl there, peering out at her with large, frightened eyes.

Arya tilted her head to the side, studying the girl. She looked half-starved and perhaps was hoping to steal some food from the soldiers who had just arrived. Arya did not like to think of what would happen to the child if she tried. The soldiers would-

Someone bumped into Arya and she was distinctly aware of something slipping into her pocket. In a flash, she spun, catching the wrist of the culprit, only to find a boy not much older than the girl under the carriage. He squirmed, his eyes wide and desperate, staring up at the hand that might be cut off if he was turned in for thievery.

Arya looked from the boy to the girl under the carriage who watched the scene with baited breath. Then she exhaled and fished a coin out of her pouch.

"You tried the wrong pocket." She pressed the coin into his hand. "Get something to eat. For you and your sister."

The boy stared up at her in wonder, taking a few steps back. Then he turned and scrambled back toward the cart. His sister joined him and they disappeared from sight.

"Making friends with the smallfolk?" Jaime asked from behind her.

Arya stuffed her hands in her pockets. "They were hungry, that's all."

"Yes, they were hungry. I suspect the raiders took everything of worth," Jaime said.

"So they were here," Arya said.

"Oh yes. Burnt out buildings, villagers who look like they've seen hell, starving children. The Greyjoy raiders certainly played this unfortunate town a visit," Jaime said. "Which makes it ideal for camp. You and I will ride with a small group from here. The others will stay hidden in the trees."

"Why?" Arya asked.

"I suspect the raiders are hiding somewhere where they can watch the keep. Best for them not to see us coming with any sort of army. They could panic and set the field ablaze too soon," Jaime said. "The chance of being discovered here is low since the village has already been attacked. It's unlikely they'll attack the same place twice. Nothing valuable to take. Not to mention, this part of the woods gives them a terrible vantage point. If I were to guess, they've taken the high ground. Somewhere where they can keep watch on the fields and the keep. I have a few ideas."

"Oh." Arya blinked a few times. "Yes...that makes sense."

"Don't look so surprised." Jaime grinned. "This is my home remember. Same as the north was yours. And I used to come to this forest to hunt when I was a boy. I know it well. The Greyjoys don't."

A few moments later, Jaime and Arya set out again with a small party of soldiers, riding at full speed for Cornfield. It took them a little less than an hour to reach the keep. It was a modest sized castle, but the fields around it were the truly impressive thing. They seemed to go on for miles. It was the only truly flat expanse that Arya had seen in the west. The only territory suited to growing large amounts of crops at once. That was what made it so valuable.

The Swyfts had set up a perimeter between the woods and the fields, but it was a sorry little collection of tents and soldiers. One had only to look for a few moments to understand that this was not a place used to battle. They had food rather than gold or silver and most people wouldn't see them as valuable. They had no idea that they were pawns in Cersei's strategy against her father.

Five men crowded in a small tent on the western edge of the fields when she and Jaime arrived and they all stepped forward to greet Jaime at once and thank him for coming. They greeted her as well, though there was more than a little confusion in their tones. She had met only two of them before. Harys Swyft, the head of Swyft house, and his eldest son Steffon. The others were strangers to her.

"We were just discussing how to handle the raiders. Your help will be welcome in that," Harys Swyft said. "They're hiding out somewhere in the woods, and any scouts we have sent have not returned alive."

"No, I imagine not." Jaime leaned over the map, tracing his finger along the edge of the forest. "The Greyjoys have no doubt picked a point where they will see scouts coming."

"They have the advantage as long as they are hiding in the damn trees," Lord Steffon said. "If we want to get eyes on them, we could always use fire to burn them out."

"You'll burn out all the game as well," Jaime said.

"We won't burn the whole forest. Just a part of it," Lord Steffon said. "And better to lose some game than our crops."

"No," Arya spoke up. "There are many smallfolk in the woods. You could kill them as well."

"Not many," Lord Steffon said. "And death by fire is better than death by those Greyjoy bastards. If you can't stomach it, I insist you make your way to the keep and stay there."

Arya's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what makes you think that you can _insist_ I do anything?"

The man faltered for just a moment at the look on her face. "I only meant...you'll be more comfortable there."

"I did not ride three days and nights for the comfort of your hall," Arya said coolly. "This tent suits me fine. Continue, my lord."

"There really is no need for you to be here," another man spoke up. She didn't know this one. "I understand you wish to involve yourself in Western politics as soon as possible, but you will learn more in the keep than on the battlefield."

Arya did not reply, nor did she move. She stared at him, calmly though her insides burned with fury. And the man had the gall to turn to Jaime.

"My lord, if you could reason with your wife."

"That's an intriguing notion, Ser Humphrey" Jaime said. He glanced at Arya. "My lady, do you want to go to the keep?"

"No," she replied without any pause.

"Well, there you have it. I suppose she'll have to stay. Because _I_ insist." A cold sort of smile crossed his face as he turned back to the knight. "Don't ever question my wife like that again."

The man faltered and stammered out an apology. A strange sort of pride welled up in Arya's chest. Even if she could stand on her own, it was comforting knowing that Jaime stood with her.

"My apologies for my sons," Harys Swyft said quickly, though he seemed to apologize more out of fear for losing support than any actual guilt. "They will mind their tongues from now on, of course. Very sorry." He ran a hand over his balding head. "Besides, burning the woods would be foolish. The spring has not brought near enough rain and the fire from the trees could spread to the fields. We could dig a trench from the river, perhaps, but we do not have the time."

"No. And losing our first crop to a fire of our own making would be devastating. My father would not be pleased if we had to fall back on the Reach for help again," Jaime said. "How many raiders did you see?"

"More than a hundred perhaps. But not much more," Lord Swyft said.

"How many men do you have at your disposal?" Jaime asked.

"With the exception of the men needed to man the walls? About seventy," Swyft said. "Understand, we're usually not a target for wars such as these so we don't need many soldiers to keep the peace. And we lost a great deal of our men in the War of the Five Kings."

"That's quite all right," Jaime said. "We rode with one hundred men. They are hidden in the woods for now and keeping a close watch for any scouts. Our forces combined should be able to counter them."

"If we can find them," Ser Humphrey said. "You know the woods can be treacherous."

"I do. But the Greyjoys will almost certainly have taken the higher ground. Which in this case would be..." He tapped his finger on the middle of the forest. "Here. Lion's hill. The highest point in the forest and you can easily see Cornfield from there. And it's an easier position to hold since it's surrounded by valleys. I'll bet anything they're hiding there."

"Yes, of course. That make sense." Lord Swyft said. "Puts us in a bad position. They'll see us coming if we move to make any attack and they'll have time to prepare. No doubt they have skilled archers."

"Can we attack at night?" Arya asked. "It would blind their archers."

"I've thought about it," Jaime said. "But it would blind us as well. In the chaos, it would be hard to tell an enemy from an ally. What we need is a way to force the raiders into a valley." He glanced at Lord Swyft. "What exact warning did the Greyjoys give to you?"

"That if we did not open our gates in a fortnight, they would burn the fields," Lord Swyft said. "And that if we tried to attack, they would do the same. We only have one shot at an attack."

"Yes, but we have a good shot," Jaime said. "They'll be looking for you to prepare for a fight. Once you make for the woods, they'll want to keep their promise and burn the fields. To do that, they'll ride down the southern side of the hill. It will put them practically right next to the Cornfields. They could burn them before you have time to turn.

"How does that give us a good shot then?" Lord Steffon asked.

"Because my men will be hiding in the valley," Jaime said. "Waiting to intercept them as they go for the fields."

The men in the tent seemed to consider this for a long moment. Ser Humphrey was the first to raise a question. "What if they don't go for the fields? What if they keep their position and kill us first."

"Well then, my men will still be able to charge up the hill and flank them while they are focused on your people," Jaime said. "Either way, it will be a surprise attack."

"And you're sure the Greyjoys won't notice your approach?" Lord Steffon asked.

"Not if you make a big show of preparing for an attack. It will keep them distracted," Jaime said. "It's vital we keep them focused on you and not us."

"You could send scouts to the northern valley," Arya said. "Make it look as if you are going to attack from there. Then they'll watch the place more closely."

"Ah yes. That's an idea," Jaime said. "It could give us a better chance."

The lords and generals looked between each other at the table, all silently considering the plan, until at last, Lord Swyft nodded.

"All right. Your plan is better than anything we've come up with so far," he said. "At dawn tomorrow, we'll begin readying the troops. Then we'll see if your suspicions about Lion's Hill are correct, my lord."

Arya smiled to herself. Sometimes she forgot that Jaime was a capable soldier and strategist. He balked from ruling in most capacities, but on the battlefield, he clearly felt more at home and it was good to see him in his element.

She had made the right decision by not telling him about Cersei. If she had, he wouldn't be able to think about anything else. And he deserved a chance to prove himself to his father.

* * *

Jaime spent that evening studying the map, trying to make sure he hadn't forgotten an important detail about the woods. He knew this was a crucial moment and his father would be looking for him to succeed. No mistakes. No falling short of his expectations. He was tired of doing that.

"You're good at this you know."

Jaime looked up in surprise at Arya. She was sitting cross legged on the ground, arranging her weapons in front of her. Two swords, four knives and a bow and quiver. She really had come prepared. "What do you mean?"

"Planning a battle. Leading. You're good at it," Arya said, adjusting one of her knives. "Your men respect you. So do the lords. They were more than willing to let you take control of the meeting. And then your strategy was...well it was a good strategy." She looked up at him. "Your father would be proud."

Jaime wasn't sure why, but his chest tightened at the words. "I'm...sure he would see a flaw in my plan. He always sees some flaw. Too reckless, too obvious, too foolish."

"It's not your fault that he sets his expectations too high." Arya shrugged. "Maybe you're reckless sometimes. But you're not foolish. You've never been foolish."

Jaime swallowed hard. Those words...had he ever actually heard those words before? His father had called him foolish more than once. And Cersei...well she had always insisted that she was smarter than him. It was one of the reasons that she thought _she_ should be their father's heir. Because she was smarter and because she took it more seriously. Jaime had always agreed with her. But Arya...

" _You're not foolish. You've never been foolish."_

How strange it was to hear that from someone.

Arya seemed to notice Jaime's silence and she looked up at him. "Did I say something wrong?"

Jaime shook his head. "Ah...no. I just..." He took a deep breath. "Thank you, Arya."

Arya smiled, then returned to organizing her weapons.

He wondered if she even knew how much her words had meant to him. How rare they were. She said the so casually that he doubted she really understood their effect. But Jaime, who all his life had been told he needed to try harder, be better, become the man he was born to be, was not used to such praise. Ever since he lost his hand, doubt had become his constant companion. How was he supposed to live up to his father's legacy?

" _Your father would be proud."_

He wasn't sure if his father would be proud or not. But for now, Arya's words were enough for him.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Gotta give Jaime a chance to do things sometimes as well! And of course, he knows the west better than Arya. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Reviews subscribe and I'll see you next time :)**_


	74. Chapter 74: The Third Target

_**A/N: A LOT of stuff happening in this chapter today, that's for sure. We've got battle, character moments, and more plot movement. So enjoy Arya and Jaime going to war!**_

 **Chapter 74: The Third Target**

The night before battle, as Arya was preparing her horse for the ride back to the southern edge of the woods, Jaime approached without any horse at all. He did not seem equipped to ride, though they would have to set out soon to make it there and back by dawn. She raised an eyebrow in question.

"Did you plan to ride on the same horse?"

"No," Jaime said. "I'm staying at Cornfield to ride with Swyfts men tomorrow. I'm too conspicuous a person. If the Greyjoys see me riding away, they might grow suspicious and follow."

"Someone has to lead your men into position," Arya said.

"Yes," Jaime agreed. "And that someone will be you."

Arya blinked in surprise. She expected to fight in this battle, but she hadn't anticipated leading any part of it. Jaime had far more practice in that area, and all of her studying with Tywin could not make up for experience.

"I'm sorry to spring such a thing on you," Jaime said. "But I imagine you'll insist on commanding an army eventually. One hundred men seems a good place to start."

"What makes you think they'll listen to me?" Arya asked.

"You're good at making yourself heard. They'll listen. Invoke my name if you must, or my father's. But I don't think there will be a need." He grasped the reins of her horse as it shifted, steadying the beast. "They obey the Lannisters. You're a Lannister."

"I...don't know the woods," Arya said.

"You've studied the map. And the valley is at the base of a great hill, impossible to miss. Ask some of the soldiers to help guide you to the exact place." Jaime tilted his head to the side. "You've been fighting for this for some time, haven't you? Why do you doubt yourself now?"

"Because I..." Arya swallowed hard. "I don't want to be the reason this fails."

"You won't be. I trust you."

The words swelled inside of Arya and made her stand a little straighter. She had been trying to cope with her new high expectations. But trust was something different than that. There was no doubt in Jaime's voice or expression as he pressed the reigns into her hand. He believed, wholeheartedly, that she could do this.

Arya's fingers curled tight around the reigns and she nodded once. "Then I'll do it."

Jaime smiled, dropping his hand. "Tomorrow at first light, I'll ride with the Swyfts. Hopefully by then you'll be in the valley. Set the men at every potential blind spot, and instruct them to surround the Greyjoys when they fall into the trap. If they don't fall for it, lead them in a charge up the hill to help us."

"Consider it done." Arya swung up onto her horse. Before she could urge her mount forward, she felt Jaime's hand slide into her own and she looked down at him, wondering if he had forgotten to give her some instruction.

"Ride carefully," he murmured. "I'll see you again tomorrow when it's all over."

Arya's chest felt suddenly tight and, for a moment, she did not want to release his hand. "Yes, you'll see me. I'll be the only lady for miles with blood on my sword."

Jaime grinned, pressing a quick kiss to one of her knuckles. Then he released her and stepped away. Arya held his gaze for a long breath, wondering if she should say something else. But in the end, words failed her and she turned away, urging her horse forward.

"Go, boy. Fly."

The horse took off at a gallop, tearing across the craggy fields toward where the Lannister army waited.

She did not look back. She didn't have time for that.

* * *

At dawn, the Sywft camp was abuzz with activity. Per Jaime's instructions, they were making a great show of preparing to ride for battle in order to keep Greyjoy eyes fixed squarely on them. With any luck, the Greyjoys wouldn't have even noticed Arya leaving. A single cloaked rider moving in the opposite direction of their target? She was unlikely to draw their eye.

Or so Jaime hoped. If they had noticed her or she had been captured or killed, then...He shook his head. No, he wouldn't think about that for now. She was a good rider. She would have made it to their men in time.

"You're sure your people will be there?" Harys Swyft asked, riding up beside Jaime.

"I'm sure," Jaime said.

"Good. Because if they're not, we're outnumbered," Harys Swyft said. "And even if we beat them, those bastards will reach the fields and light them up. Are you quite sure your wife will be able to handle this?"

"She's handled worse than this." Jaime glanced at Lord Swyft. "Were you in the north, my lord? During the rebellion?"

"No. We were among those who stayed behind to guard the west," Lord Swyft said.

"If you had been in the north, you wouldn't question her," Jaime said. "It was her strategy that won us the battle against the Boltons. And she killed the Bolton bastard herself when she was too injured to even stand. She can handle a few Greyjoy raiders."

"We'll see," Lord Swyft said. "I hope you're right."

As the sun broke over the horizon, they formed ranks and began their march toward the tree line. Now came the real test-whether or not Jaime was right about the hill. He was nearly certain, but he knew better than to assume. He had done that with Robb Stark and bitterly regretted it for a year as his prisoner.

Lord Swyft commanded his men to charge and Jaime rode with them, into the tree line and toward the slant of the great hill. He listened for enemy soldiers. He waited for them to give themselves away. Any moment now, if he was right, there would be an-

To his left a horse squealed and fell as it took an arrow to the eye. Jaime's whole body swelled with fire. He was right. They were _here_.

" _Forward!"_ he called out. "Do not let them stop you!"

More arrows rained down upon them and Jaime kept his head low to avoid them as they whizzed overhead. The screams of dying men echoed through the trees but he did not let his horse slow. They crested the hill, launching themselves upon the enemy camp and the Greyjoy raiders met them, steel against steel.

But there were not a hundred of them. Only thirty perhaps. The others...Jaime swung his horse around to look down the hill. The raiders were fleeing into the valley, already turning as if they intended to make it to the fields.

 _Here's your chance, Arya_

The Greyjoys crashed into the valley. For a long moment, nothing there moved and Jaime felt a moment of doubt and fear. Perhaps she had been noticed after all. Perhaps she never reached the men at all.

Then the valley rustled. At once, soldiers rose from the brush, raining arrows down upon the retreating raiders. And Jaime saw Arya herself spin from behind a tree, putting an arrow of her own through a man's eye. He let out a breath.

 _She's been practicing with the bow as well,_ he thought. _Is there a weapon she doesn't use?_

He didn't have time to contemplate the question for very long. This battle wasn't done yet. With the few men he had kept, he charged down the hill in pursuit of the raiders, leaving the Swyfts to deal with the men still on the hill. He cut through the scattering troops, trying to escape the jaws of death. He did not have much time to see where he was going. In the heat of battle, one only knew to look for enemies and kill them as quickly as possible.

A war cry tore from his throat as he slashed his sword up and cut through a man's skull from lip to crown. When he fell back, another hulking soldier moved into his place and Jaime narrowly blocked a strike from his sword. A second blow forced him to roll from his horse and into the mud, and he had only moments to get on his feet as the man came at him again. He was forced backward as he blocked each strike from the giant of a man, feeling suddenly aware of the sharp hill close behind him. He was being backed into a corner.

But before the soldier could make use of it, he howled and dropped to his knees as someone cut across the back of his legs. Seconds later, a sword tip sprouted from his mouth. When he dropped, Arya stood in his place, gasping for breath, blood speckling her pale cheeks. She looked up at him, silently asking if he was all right and he gave a quick nod.

There was no time for talking. Moments later they found themselves back to back, fighting off the scattered attackers. Jaime did not pay attention to how many they killed. He shifted into a familiar mental space-that of a soldier. A killer. A survival. And his sword did the rest.

His left hand, after many years of practice, was beginning to serve him well.

At some point the fighting died and Jaime's sword no longer found purchase on either steel or flesh. Bodies were strewn about the woods but none of them moving toward him, and blood rolled down the edge of his blade, dripping onto the forest floor. Toward the top of the hill he heard a cry of victory. Victory of the Swyfts and Lannisters. He couldn't help but let out a laugh of relief.

At the same moment he felt relief, worry came rushing in and he turned to look for Arya. She was turning back to look at him as well, an exhausted grin on her face. She swayed for a moment and he sheathed his sword so he could steady her.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded, sheathing her sword. "Yes. All right. You?"

"Just fine." He smoothed down her wild dark hair. "That was...your first true battle wasn't it?"

"Oh, so we're not counting Winterfell because I was injured?" Arya asked.

"And barely conscious," Jaime reminded her. "We can count it if you'd like. It's just a bit different being in the midst of the fighting, don't you think?"

"Different." Arya nodded once. "That's a word for it." She looked up at him with a cheeky sort of smile. "It seems we've beat the Farman problem."

Jaime laughed once, pulling her into a firm embrace and she gave to it easily. He could practically feel her buzzing as his arm pressed against her back. He knew the feeling of a first battle. It made one's blood sing and when it was over one could not help but feel lucky to be alive. And he was. They both were.

Somehow, through every trial, they kept pulling each other along. From the very moment Jaime first met her, it had been that way. From the loss of his hand to the aftermath of Arya's capture. They took turns faltering and holding each other up. But it was nice, for once, to both be standing strong, back to back against this new storm of swords.

* * *

Harys Swyft threw a lavish victory feast following the battle, and Jaime and Arya had seats up honor at the high table. The food was excellent and even though the focus was on Arya once again, at least this time it was because of a battle and not a wedding. Now, when the lords and ladies whispered about her from afar, she knew they spoke of how she fought right alongside her husband. And that was a rumor that Arya did not mind in the least.

Jaime received the bulk of the praise, but Arya did not take issue with it. He had come up with the plan this time, and she was glad to see him recognized. So many people knew him as a Kingslayer before anything else. The people of Cornfield would look at him as their savior.

Of course, that was not to say that the people ignored Arya. Ser Humphrey inquired on how she had fared in the battle and she told him that she had fared well enough. No injuries to speak of. He still seemed confused and mystified by her. Perhaps a bit afraid. And Arya was content with that.

Harys Swyft's granddaughter, Joanna Swyft, was equally fascinated. She was only a few years younger than Arya, with wide, doe eyes and a tittering little laugh. She and her friends managed to corner Arya when she took a turn about the room to ask about the battle.

"Is it true you road with the soldiers?" Joanna asked. "That's what everyone is saying."

"I did," Arya said. "And fought with them too."

"I can't imagine that," one of her friends said. "Was it frightening? Were you hurt?"

"I suppose it was a bit frightening, yes," Arya said with a small smile. "But fear keeps you sharp in battle. I wasn't hurt."

"You could have been though," Joanna said. "Why not stay in the keep with the rest of us? I know men have to fight but you didn't have to...why choose it?"

"It's... something I've always been good at, I suppose," Arya said. "And I've never liked waiting. It begins to drive me mad." She shifted from foot to foot, now slightly uncomfortable beneath their wide eyed stares. They still didn't seem to understand her reasoning so she threw in something that might satisfy them. "And...Of course, I didn't want to be parted from my husband. We only just married. I couldn't stand the idea of him dying."

That seemed to be an answer they could accept and Arya was able to extract herself from the conversation, only to run into the very husband in question who was smirking slightly.

"Didn't want to be parted from me, did you?" he asked.

"Did you like that?" Arya asked. "I don't think it sounded convincing."

"No, no. It was very good," Jaime sipped on his wine. "What a doting wife you are."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm going to take that cup and pour that wine over your head."

"Oh, my lady. We both know you can't reach my head."

"Isn't that what chairs are for?"

"I suppose. All the same, you shouldn't waste this cup. It's a fine vintage," Jaime said. "Would you like some? It's not poisoned. I checked."

"Perhaps it's just a slow acting poison," Arya said. "And I should wait to find out."

"But it would be much more dramatic for us to die together, don't you think?" Jaime extended the cup. "They'll sing songs about us."

Arya rolled her eyes and accepted the goblet, drinking long and deep. She was actually acquiring more of a taste for wine, though slowly.

"You did well today," Jaime said. "Your line didn't let one Greyjoy through to the fields." He took back his goblet when Arya passed it to him. "Did our men give you any trouble?"

"I wouldn't say trouble. They were confused at the beginning, but they knew there wasn't much time to argue," Arya said. "One of them used to hunt in these woods before he became a soldier. He knew exactly where to find the valley. We were in position by first light."

"Good," Jaime said. "Let's hope father is handling the Farmans. If he strikes a decisive blow on them, Euron Greyjoy will have very little ground to stand on."

"I'm sure your father will manage it," Arya said. "And if he's struggling we can aid him. Tomorrow, we need to ride to his camp."

Jaime gave her a look. "He instructed us to go to Casterly Rock."

"I know. But there's something I need to discuss with him in person. By letter...well letter won't be enough."

"Why is that?" Jaime asked.

"Because I'm likely going to argue with him."

Jaime exhaled. "Of course you are. Maybe I should go to Casterly Rock then and avoid the storm."

"No," Arya said, thinking at once of Cersei. Even if she was no danger to Jaime, she wouldn't have them alone with each other. Not right now. "No, you'll need to hear what I have to say too."

"May I ask what all of this is about?" Jaime asked.

"It's...a theory," Arya said. "But if it's all the same, I'd rather not tell you until we reach your father."

"Am I not trustworthy, my lady?" Jaime raised an eyebrow. His tone was joking enough, but Arya responded seriously.

"You are," she said. "This isn't about me trusting you. But I need you to trust me."

Jaime studied her for a long moment before giving her a nod. "I already do. All right, we'll ride for my father's camp tomorrow."

Arya gave him a grateful smile. She knew that Jaime would not like her theory any more than Tywin. He might even like it less. But Arya was surer of Cersei's guilt now than ever and she would have to make them believe it.

There was one confusing piece of the puzzle regarding the Swyft part of the Farman problem. Why didn't the Greyjoy raiders burn the fields from the start? It seemed more like Cersei to spitefully gloat that Tywin could not save the food supply when he was put in the same position. This attack, on the other hand, seemed designed to draw in an army. Was it to force a choice? Did Cersei really believe that Tywin would not send aid and would focus on the military just like all of his children?

Arya didn't know the answer. She didn't claim to know everything about Cersei's motives. She just needed to know enough to convince her father and brother that she was a traitor.

* * *

The following morning, Jaime and Arya bid farewell to the Swyfts and gathered their remaining men. There had been few casualties in the battle and most of them were still well enough to travel and fight. If nothing else, they could provide reinforcements when they reached the coast.

"I suppose my father can't be too irritated with us for showing up unannounced," Jaime said as they readied their horses. "We did help him solve the Farman problem. First ones to do it."

"Oh that's right. I never did ask," Arya said adjusting the straps on her horse's saddle. "How did Tyrion answer the question? I'm actually a bit surprised he didn't guess the answer."

"Well, Tyrion was a bit of an odd case," Jaime said. "See, father never tested him with the problem. He had no interest in teaching Tyrion about war tactics. He didn't want anything to do with him most days. But I mentioned it off handedly to Tyrion one day and he was offended he had never been asked. So he resolved to come up with a counter argument that might stump our father."

"Oh, please tell me more. This sounds interesting," Arya said.

"It was so long ago...let me see if I can remember exactly what he said." Jaime looked up at the grey morning sky as he tried to recall. "It was a rare sort of family dinner. Cersei was visiting Casterly Rock from the capital and I went with her as an escort, since I was King's Guard. It was the first time we had been back at the Rock in some time." He stroked the mane of his horse thoughtfully. "We were sitting at dinner and Tyrion asks about the Farman problem."

"And what did your father say?" Arya asked.

"I think he completely ignored him," Jaime said. "So of course Tyrion kept talking. He said 'I'm curious about this little choice. A choice between military and food it seems, with food being the more valuable. But say for a moment that the enemy wasn't attacking two targets. What if they attacked _three_?'" Jaime laughed once. "Then he proposed that perhaps the attack on the Swyfts and the Farmans was just a distraction to divide the army and spread them thing-while leaving Casterly Rock open. He asked how father would choose between military, food and the Rock itself."

Arya's smile faded a bit as a worrying little thought stirred in the back of her mind. "And...what did your father say?"

"He said it was an irrelevant question. The Rock could not be taken by only a third of any man's army," Jaime said. "Tyrion countered and said that perhaps a spy let the enemy inside while everyone else was off fighting. And father, again, refused to answer the question. He thought it was a foolish exercise." Jaime shook his head. "But then _Cersei_...Cersei spoke up and insisted that father give an answer. It was the only time I'd ever seen her and Tyrion agreeing with each other. She was bitter enough about that damn problem to actually speak up for him. It was something of a miracle."

 _Seven hells,_ Arya thought. _Seven hells, I should have asked for this story much sooner._ Suddenly, everything made sense. Of course, the raiders didn't burn the fields immediately. They were meant to draw in soldiers. The Farmans and the Swyfts. Two fronts made to keep the Lannister army occupied while Cersei opened the door for the Greyjoys at Casterly Rock. She could almost hear her voice in her head.

 _Is the question irrelevant now, father?_

"And...What did your father say?" she asked at last.

"I don't remember," Jaime said. "I don't remember if he answered or if he just dismissed them. Seeing Cersei and Tyrion as a united front was so strange that I don't think I even listened to what father said." He seemed to notice her expression then and he tilted his head to the side. "Arya...are you all right?"

"I'm...fine," Arya said. "I was just...I think we need to go. Now."

Jaime laughed once. "Arya, you don't need to worry about the Rock. Father was right. It's impregnable. Greyjoy would have to have someone on the inside and I assure you that an exiled kraken has no friends in the west."

 _No,_ Arya thought. _But he has an ally with a common goal._

"All the same," she murmured. "We should go. I need to speak with your father as soon as possible."

Jaime's brow furrowed. "Arya..."

"I told you to trust me," Arya said. "Do you?"

He hesitated, but only because he seemed surprised by the severity of her voice. "Yes. You know I do."

"Good." She swung up onto her horse. "Then let's ride."

* * *

 _ **A/N: In which Cersei steals her brother's ideas in order to strike at Tywin. But at least Arya and Jaime won their battle! Next time it's time for some CONFRONTATION between Arya and Tywin and Jaime so that should be very exciting. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	75. Chapter 75: An Impossible Debate

_**A/N: Game of thrones is BACK, BITCHES and I couldn't feel MORE ALIVE! I won't post any spoilers but I will say that my love for Arya grows with each passing day. The Stark sisters in general really. But, we still got this fanfict to update so enjoy the argument chapter everyone!**_

 **Chapter 75: An Impossible Debate**

There were ships burning from the coast all the way to Fair Isle itself, and more still sinking into the depths of the sea. Some bore Lannister colors, others Greyjoy, and amongst the rubble, soldiers were drowning or already drowned.

This was not the kind of fight Arya would expect an exiled Greyjoy to put up, even with hired sell swords. He must have had some sort of backer who wanted to ruin the west. Or ruin Tywin Lannister. Seeing the aftermath of the battle only added more evidence to the already heaping pile that Cersei had betray her family.

Presenting Cersei as the traitor should have made Arya happy. She was, after all, a name on her list, and she had caused a civil war in the North with her vile manipulations. This was an excuse to bring her down without repercussion from Tywin. But no part of Arya was eager to tell Tywin that his daughter had so utterly betrayed him. And even less of her was eager to tell Jaime that his sister-his lover-was the enemy. Jaime had already lost his brother because of her. Because she killed Joffrey and Tywin needed someone to blame. If Arya was correct, he would lose his sister as well.

"Quite a battle," Jaime said. "But it seems we've won. I see ships with our flags standing but nothing from the Greyjoys." His horse shifted a bit. "Still, it's strange that Euron Greyjoy was able to muster so many men."

"Who knows if that's even all of his men," Arya murmured.

"I can't imagine him going at the Fair Isles with only half his forces," Jaime said. "He only attacked the Swyfts with a hundred raiders, but rest assured, the bulk of his army was here."

"You don't think he sent any soldier anywhere else?" Arya twisted the reigns of her horse around her hand. She asked the question while already knowing the answer in her heart. Euron Greyjoy was already in Casterly Rock. She was sure of it.

"If he has, I'm sure we'll find out soon," Jaime glanced at her. "Are you all right?"

Arya nodded once but did not reply.

Jaime sighed. "For future reference, Arya, if I ask that question, I already know you're not."

"If you already know, then don't ask," Arya muttered.

"I think that if you tell me what you intend to argue with father about...I could help you," Jaime said.

"No," Arya said. "You can't."

 _If anything, you'll be harder than him to convince,_ she thought, but did not say. Instead she urged her horse forward and down the hill.

"Come on. We've delayed enough."

They road through scores of tents and passed fields of wounded men. One boy was hollering for them not to cut off his leg, but the leg was already gone, likely lost to the sea, and the men were just trying to stop the bleeding. Arya hadn't seen this kind of carnage since the siege of Winterfell and it made bile rise up in the back of her throat.

 _Cersei was the reason for that siege. For the slaughter,_ she reminded herself. But she pushed the thought back. If she allowed anger to consume her, she knew her argument would not convince Tywin.

At last, they reached Tywin's tent. He was speaking with his brother Kevan, leaning over a map rolled out on the center table. Arya knew Kevan had been helping to manage Casterly Rock. She imagined he had brought soldiers from the castle, leaving it all the more open to attack. She could practically hear Cersei in her mind, insisting that her uncle go to help her father. _She_ would manage things at the Rock. She could handle it on her own.

Tywin looked up from a map when they entered, his gaze flicking between Arya and Jaime. "What are you doing here? I believe I told you to ride for Casterly Rock and wait for my instructions."

"Arya insisted on coming here first," Jaime said. "The good news is we handled the Cornfield situation. The harvest is safe."

"I heard of that last night," Tywin said. "Apparently it was a decisive battle."

"Yes, well they made the mistake hiding in the Westwood. Unfamiliar to them. Very familiar to me," Jaime said. "There were few casualties."

Tywin nodded once. "Good. We can use the fresh men here." He glanced between Arya and Jaime. "And you have my thanks for handling the situation."

"Jaime deserves most of the credit," Arya murmured. "It was his strategy this time."

Jaime's mouth twitched into a small smile and Tywin inclined his head in acknowledgement. It was the closest he usually got to open approval, but it seemed to be enough for Jaime who was so often starved for it.

"The battle here was less decisive," Kevan said. "We forced them into a retreat and sunk many of their ships on the way. But we lost a fair bit of our navy. More than we have lost in many years."

"And Euron Greyjoy?" Jaime asked.

"Nowhere to be found," Tywin said. "And no sight of him in the battle. He may retreat to the Iron Islands and attempt to hold them against our wounded navy. Or he may attack again."

 _Or he may be in your keep,_ Arya thought. She pulled at the fingers of her right hand. Gods, she did not want to have this conversation.

"We'll beat him back if he does. I suspect he's worse off than us when it comes to men," Jaime said.

"I won't make the mistake of underestimating him again," Tywin said, looked to Arya. "Now, why exactly did you come here before Casterly Rock?"

Arya felt her own chin lifting but she didn't try to stop it. "I...needed to speak to you about something important. You and Jaime, actually."

Kevan glanced between the three of them before he stepped back from the table. "I'll go...speak to the other generals."

Tywin nodded once, watching Kevan pass from the tent. Then he exhaled. "Is it something that could not have been communicated by letter?"

"It could have been, but its better this way," Arya said. "I think I know who the southern traitor is. And you're not going to like it."

For a long moment, there was silence. She could tell that neither Tywin, nor Jaime, expected that to be her reason for coming. Behind her, Jaime's armor clinked as he shifted.

"I doubt I would like to hear the name of any traitor," Tywin said at last.

"No maybe not. But you especially won't want to hear this one," Arya said. "I just...I want you to understand that I wouldn't make this accusation unless I was sure."

Tywin studied her for a long time before he nodded once. "Tell me then."

It wouldn't be wise to blurt out the name at once. She needed to build at least some of her evidence first in order to help her case. The longer she could keep Jaime and Tywin listening to her the better. Once they grew defensive, it would be an uphill battle.

"With every suspect you've thought of, there has always been something lacking," Arya said. "The Dornish had no reason to strike at the north. The Tyrells had no reason to start a war while they have such an ideal position. The Brotherhood without Banners doesn't have the resources, the connections or the motive to strike at the north. Now there's the Greyjoys, and they might have a good motive, but where could they have found the resources? On top of that, not one of them new about my engagement to Jaime. Olenna Tyrell suspected perhaps, but whoever was working with Roose Bolton knew and they told him."

"Yes, I'm aware that none of the previous suspects make sense. Make your point," Tywin said.

"My point is that there is someone who has a motive to go against you and the north and the resources to back the Boltons and the Greyjoys. Someone who was one of the first to know about my engagement to Jaime," Arya said.

She saw Tywin's face shift just then. It seemed to harden and she could tell he already knew who she meant to name. "No. That's not possible."

"It is," Arya said. "There's no one else that makes sense."

"What are you talking about?" Jaime asked, stepping forward to the table. "Who?"

"She believes the traitor is Cersei," Tywin said. His voice was flat and Arya had not seen his expression so icy in a long time.

"That's..." Jaime blinked. "Arya, that's not possible. I'll grant you that Cersei doesn't like the north and she doesn't like you, but she wouldn't so far as to attack her own country. She wouldn't go against family."

"She was perfectly happy to go against Tyrion in the past," Arya said. "I know she hated him, but I wouldn't say she's overly fond of your father at the moment. Not after he sent her away from the capital and her son."

"She's never acted against me like this," Tywin said. "And she wouldn't. Even Tyrion, spiteful as he is, never made the mistake of truly opposing me."

"But she is the only possibility," Arya said. "We know she would gladly attack the north. She hated my father and she hates me. She was against making peace. But she wouldn't do it as herself because she didn't want you to know, so she used the Boltons instead. I imagine she hoped to increase tensions between the crown and the north again but when I unexpectedly came to Winterfell, it gave her the opportunity to take me out of the picture. I'm nearly sure that it was her who suggested marrying me to Ramsay Bolton which would have been a stupid move for them. But it's one that would have suited her. It would have ended the possibility of a marriage alliance."

"This is all speculation," Tywin said. "I won't deny that Cersei disliked the north but she did not stand to benefit from a civil war. The Greyjoys hate the north as well. They could have easily stirred up trouble, hoping to weaken your brother to improve their chances of taking back the Iron Islands."

"They wouldn't have known about the marriage alliance," Arya countered, trying and failing to keep her voice from rising. She had to stay calm, but Tywin's refusal to see the truth was beginning to anger her.

"Knowledge alone cannot make Cersei guilty," Tywin said. "You have a _theory,_ not evidence, and there are spies all over King's Landing who traffic in such information."

"Really?" Arya's jaw tightened. "And how many of those spies know about the Farman problem?"

Tywin did not have an immediate answer to that. The first time he had not come up with an immediate report. Because he knew. He _knew_ that the attack on the Swyfts and Farmans was an incredible coincidence. His silence-his doubt-gave Arya the opportunity to keep talking.

"You gave that problem to me but I wasn't the first." Arya swallowed hard. "You gave it to your children too, a long time ago. You also told me that it was just an exercise, unlikely to occur exactly in real life. Now it's happening. It makes sense that the Greyjoys would attack Fair Isle. Of course they would. Fair Isle has the majority of the western navy and is one of the greatest threats to them if they try to take back the Iron Islands." She slapped her hand against the map. "But sending one hundred raiders inland for a tiny little keep? Cornfield has _no_ strategic position. Its miles from the sea."

"It's a coincidence. Cersei wouldn't set Greyjoys on the west. This is our home," Jaime said. "And besides that, burning food has always been a tactic of the Greyjoys. They send small parties inland to devastate the countryside. It's not surprising that they wanted to burn the fields."

"You're right. Then why didn't they just _burn_ it?" Arya asked. "Would have been easy enough. With the lack of rain recently, they could have lit the whole field up before any Swyft soldier had time to put on their armor. Instead they waited outside the gates and told Swyft that they had a fortnight to surrender, as if they wanted the _castle_. And when the Swyfts sent a raven asking for help, they didn't shoot it down like any Greyjoy would, considering they're known for archery. Because they _wanted_ to give you a chance to respond. To see what choice you would make."

Tywin still did not speak and Arya sensed she was beginning to make him consider the possibility.

"Give me one good reason why it couldn't be Cersei," Arya said. "Please. It's not as if I want this to be true so if you have a reason give it to me."

"She wouldn't go against family," Tywin said. "That's not what Lannisters do."

 _I suppose Tyrion doesn't count then, does he,_ Arya thought bitterly. She gritted her teeth together. "She's not going against family. Not against Jaime and not against her children. She's going against _you_. And she has every reason to do that."

"Does she?" Tywin asked coldly. Arya was treading dangerous ground again, just like when she came to Tywin's office years ago with a Cyvasse piece in her hand and rage in her heart. But despite that, she could not back down.

"You sent her away," Arya said. "You've been sending her away her whole life because she was too much to handle. Doesn't it occur to you that she might hate you for it?"

"Children hate their parents from time to time. It does not usually lead to this," Tywin said. "And if she's striking at me, as you claim, why go after the north? Why go after you?"

Arya shook her head. Was he blind? Was he _truly_ that blind? "Because everything she's ever wanted, you've given to me," Arya said. "She's your eldest daughter but I'm the one who is going to be Lady of Casterly Rock. Me. A northern girl. You've been teaching me how to rule for months and you never did the same for her. You married me to Jaime who..." she pause to look at Jaime whose eyes were wide and panicked and quickly changed course. "Who is her...twin. _Of course_ she hates me. I don't blame her for it. And if I had died or if I had been married to Ramsay, it would have spoiled all of your plans. That's all she's trying to do. If she can't win your respect or approval or trust, she at least wants to beat you at your own game."

Tywin shook his head, glaring down at the map. He was still grasping for more arguments. Anything to keep from accepting the truth. That was fine. Arya had prepared for every argument and she was willing to speak for a while yet.

"If its...a matter of revenge or spite, Cersei is hardly the only candidate," Tywin said. "I have another son and we have not been keeping a close eye on his activities."

"No," Jaime protested. "It's _not_ Tyrion either. It's neither of them. For gods' sake, why can't we just accept that it's the Greyjoys out for revenge and be done with it? They have a motive and it's possible that Euron accumulated quite a bit of resources while he was in exile. Life is full of coincidences. This attack on the Farmans and Swyfts...stranger things have happened."

"It's not Tyrion," Arya agreed. "You don't get to blame him for this too. And you know he would never target me. He was my friend." She looked at Jaime. "But Cersei would. You know she would, Jaime."

After all, Jaime had one more piece of evidence that Tywin didn't. He knew that Cersei loved him and he knew of her jealousy when he was engaged to Arya. But he didn't want to see it. He didn't want to accept it. The pain in his eyes hurt Arya more than it angered her. "I...she wouldn't...go this far."

"Look me in the eye and tell me she didn't want me dead," Arya said. "Put aside the fact that she's family and put aside the fact that the west is her home. Imagine that she decided that didn't matter anymore. Imagine she abandoned all sentiment." She looked between the two men. "And once you've done that, give me one good reason why it can't be her."

The silence in the tent was suffocating. Neither of them had anymore arguments to give. And yet Arya didn't feel triumphant in the least. If Cersei was truly the traitor, then she had set the board perfectly to win. And Arya knew that she might be one of the first casualties.

Jaime would be safe at least, but how would he live with his sister and his first love turning against his own father. Even now, his expression was so lost.

"Jaime," Arya murmured. "Please, trust me. I know you don't want it to be true. But please."

Jaime shook his head once taking a step back toward the tent entrance. "I...need to think for a bit."

Then, all at once, he was gone, and Arya was alone with Tywin.

Arya's temper snapped and she knocked a half full goblet of wine from the table with a swipe of her hand. It rolled across the ground, soaking into the earth like blood. Damn it. Damn it to the seven hells. She had known this wouldn't be easy but... the way Jaime had looked at her just then...

 _He doesn't trust me,_ Arya thought. _Not with this. When it's a choice between me and Cersei, he will always choose her._

Slowly, she sank onto a stool in the corner of the tent, suddenly exhausted. She was aware of Tywin watching her but she no longer had the energy to look him in the eye or argue. "I'm... sorry."

Tywin shook his head once.

"I don't make this accusation lightly. You know that," Arya murmured.

"I know. Your claim isn't without merit." He circled back around his desk, sinking slowly into his chair. "I will consider your theory. For now, leave me."

 _There isn't time,_ Arya wanted to say. _Cersei might have the Rock._

But then again, if she had the castle, it was too late to do much of anything. It would only be one more weight to set on his shoulders. And she had given him enough to think about already. So instead she stood slowly and gave him a nod.

"Yes, my lord."

Then she ducked from the tent and back onto the battlefield. At once, she was surrounded once again by the sounds of dying men and the smell of smoke. This would leave a scar on the west, one of Cersei's own making.

Arya could understand her in many ways. Why she resented her father. Why she hated Arya herself. Why she wanted her dead. She knew the reason for all of those things. But this-attacking her own home and people just to make a point to her father...

Arya could not understand that. Not if she tried for one thousand years.

* * *

When Jaime and Cersei were children, they used to make a sport out of defying their father. They liked to see what they could get away with. Jaime would jump off cliffs into the waters below, risking his life for a foolish rush. Cersei would sneak out of the castle and go wandering in the woods even though she was forbidden to go anywhere without a guard. And their relationship...well that had been a sort of rebellion in and of itself. They knew from the moment it began...father wouldn't approve. Father would _hate_ the idea of his children committing such a crime against his legacy.

They could break all the little ones as much as they wanted, they both knew they couldn't truly defy their father. So no matter how many times Cersei wandered the woods or kissed Jaime in the privacy of one of their chambers, in the end there was nothing she could do when their father wed her to Robert Baratheon.

Jaime had a better time of defying him of course. He joined the King's Guard, successfully avoiding burden of marriage. But for his trouble, he endured a vicious king, a drunken king, a sadistic king who was his own son. And finally...his father brought him back into the fold once again.

Rule breaking had been a game to Jaime and Cersei when they were younger. But that was all it was. A game. When the real world came knocking and their father with it, they set aside their childish whims and they followed his orders. Because they feared him? Partially. But it was even more because they longed for his approval. They could play rebellious but they were never true rebels.

But gods, how Cersei had relished the rule breaking. In the moments she got away with a trick or a lie or any other small crime...how she would smile then. She loved tricking their father. She loved fooling him. She loved beating him. It happened so little that she used to savor her small little victories.

 _But it was a game. Just a game. She wouldn't take it this far._

That was what he kept telling himself. As if Cersei were the kind of person who showed restraint. Sometimes, it was easy to forget the darker parts of her. How she once through a handmaiden down a well where she broke her neck. How she used to blame others for her crimes and watch them be whipped. The lengths she would go to in order to win...more than one person had died.

 _But this is too much. Too far. It has to be too far._

So much of what Arya had spoken of...made sense. Cersei did want Arya dead. And she did want to beat their father. She wanted revenge on them for having so much stolen from her. She wanted Jaime to herself. Jaime knew what she wanted because she was his twin. His other half. He knew her better than anyone.

 _Don't I? I must._

It had been years now since he had seen her. He wondered if he would even recognize her if he saw her now. He had some time ago accepted she would never return to the way she was when they were younger, before so much war split the seven kingdoms apart. But if Arya was right...

 _Cersei will die._

Of course she would. If she had turned on them and betray them, what else could their father do? Tywin Lannister had never been one to let treachery stand. Cersei was his daughter, but that would almost make the offense worse.

And how could Jaime lose her like that? He had already lost Tyrion across the sea. How could he bare to see Cersei die as well? He was tired of seeing his family crumble. He wanted it to _stop_.

Jaime paused. He sensed someone was watching him and he looked up from staring at his hands. In the distance, through the crowd, his gaze connected with Arya's. Her brow was furrowed and she was making herself smaller than usual. When they saw each other, she only held his stare for a moment before she ducked her head and disappeared into the crowd.

 _I told you to trust me. Do you?_

He did trust her. Jaime had trusted Arya for quite some time. But all the same, he wished more than anything else in the world, for her to be wrong.

* * *

Tywin found himself staring blankly at his desk as he turned over every piece of evidence that stood against Cersei. He had thought through Arya's accusations many times now, and each time, it became harder and harder to make any sort of excuses.

Cersei was always a willful child, always hoping to get the last word in any debate. But Tywin had always seen each of her rebellions as childish-something she would grow out of in time. And indeed, for many years, it seemed she had. After she married Robert and took her place as queen, it seemed she had accepted her role. There was complaint initially, but that all faded with time.

Then Robert died, and since then, it a new fire of rebellion had grown in Cersei. Not the childish sparks of someone lashing out but a well fed blaze of a woman who was tired of playing a role. Joffrey's death had only stoked those flames. Made her wilder, drunker, and angrier. Tywin told himself at the time that sending her away was for the best. It had worked the first time when he married her to Robert. Why shouldn't it work again?

But he was a fool to leave her unsupervised at the Rock and assume she would meekly accept her fate. She was a lion. She had always been even more a lion than either of her brothers. And lions did not bow easily to orders.

She would not turn against her children. Of that, Tywin was certain. She would do everything in her power to keep Myrcella and Tommen safe. Jaime...he doubted she would turn on Jaime either. They had always been close, and Jaime had always been the best person to talk sense into her.

But him? It was not so strange to imagine her turning against him, especially since he had turned his back on her.

In all honesty, he should have foreseen this long ago and he should have suspected her the moment Roose Bolton breathed word of a traitor. He was furious at himself for not seeing it sooner.

 _And what will I do if this is all true,_ Tywin thought. _What is my course of action then?_

He did not have an answer, because part of him hoped that some new piece of evidence would drop from the sky and disprove Arya's theory.

Evidence not come, but his brother did. Kevan brushed aside the flap of his tent, panting for breath, a scroll clutched in his hand.

"A rider. It's for you."

Tywin accepted the scroll, unrolled it. He read the scroll three times before he truly absorbed the words. Then he crumpled the parchment in his hand.

"Find Jaime and Arya. Bring them here," he muttered.

"What happened?" Kevan asked. "What news?"

"The Greyjoys," Tywin said. "They have Casterly Rock."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Tywin: I sure hope evidence drops from the sky to disprove this theory.**_

 _ **Kevan: How about evidence to prove the theory absolutely**_

 ** _Tywin: Goddammit._**

 ** _It was fun writing this argument because it was basically me seeing how many hoops Tywin could jump through to deny the obvious possibility. Arya came prepared though. Hope you enjoyed! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time :)_**


	76. Chapter 76: The Path Forward

_**A/N: Close call with me finishing this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy! There's a lot of Cersei POV in this one so it should be fun. Happy reading!**_

 **Chapter 76: The Path Forward**

By now, her father would know about the Rock, and that made Cersei gleefully happy. Just imagining his face when he realized that he no longer had the seat of the Lannister family in his grasp...oh, she wished that she could be there to see it in person.

It had been all too easy to sneak the Greyjoys inside of the keep. Uncle Kevan took much of the Lannister forces with him to meet her father. He left behind just enough to man the wall, but once the Greyjoys were inside...well there wasn't much they could do. Cersei kept the men who were loyal to her without question and let the rest of the guards die. After all, it had to look like a convincing take over, and who would believe it if the Greyjoys didn't spill any blood.

The most important thing, of course, was securing Tommen and Myrcella, along with their Dornish escorts.

Cersei had been overwhelmed with joy when they arrived. It was the first time in a while she had felt any real happiness. Her boy had grown since she last saw him and Myrcella...well she barely recognized her daughter. She had left a child and come back a young woman.

Of course, by the time they arrived, it was too late to stop her plans. The Greyjoys were already preparing to move on the Farmans. So she would just have to make do with this new twist of fate.

Cersei knew better than to harm any of the Dornishmen or let them get caught in the crossfire of the siege. She wanted to strike at her father but she didn't need the Martells to hate the Lannisters anymore. She had Myrcella to think about as well. She seemed very taken with her betrothed and Cersei was not sure she could bring herself to rip her daughter's happiness away from her.

So, naturally, she made a point to meet with Oberyn Martell as soon as she could.

"Last time I was here, we were both children," the Dornishman noted when he met her on a secluded balcony. Up here, the wind drowned out most noise so they had no need to fear prying ears. "And my sister was with me."

"I recall," Cersei said. "You have my condolences, of course, for your sister's death. I'm not sure I ever got to tell you that."

"Oh, I take no offense. I don't look for condolences from Lannisters," Oberyn said with a sharp smile. He spoke as if every word was a thorn that he hoped would prick her.

"I am a Baratheon by law," she reminded him.

"By law. Yes. But your hair is still golden, your dress is crimson and you wear a lion round your neck." He leaned back against the balcony. "Let us not pretend you truly gave up your name on the day you married."

"No. I didn't," Cersei agreed. "I understand that you hate my family. All the same, I am grateful to you for Myrcella. She...seems very well. I worried about her wellbeing, considering."

"There was no need to worry. We don't hurt little girls in Dorne," Oberyn said.

"I doubt that. Every place in the world hurts little girls," Cersei said. "But Myrcella seems to have escaped any significant harm. For that reason, I will guarantee your safety here."

"Safety?" Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Is Casterly Rock a particularly dangerous place?"

"It may soon become one," Cersei said. "You see, this castle is going to be attacked soon."

"Interesting. You do not seem very worried," Oberyn said. "How do you know this?"

"Because I arranged it," Cersei said. "It's important that I bring Casterly Rock under my control." She turned to face him. "But, if all goes planned, it will be a short attack, and you and your people will leave unharmed, along with the king and princess."

"I see," Oberyn said. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with the new lord and lady of Casterly Rock."

Cersei's grip tightened on the stone railing. "She's _not_ the lady of Casterly Rock yet."

Oberyn's mouth twitched. "Ah. So the girl specifically."

"No," Cersei said. "Though I hope to be rid of her by the end of all this...this is more to do with my father than anything else."

Now it seemed she piqued Oberyn's interest. Of course she did. He hated her father and wanted revenge as much as she did. Perhaps a different sort of revenge, but it was all the same to Cersei. "Really...how so?"

"The Rock is the seat of Lannister power. My father is very concerned with Lannister power. It will put him in quite a difficult spot if he is the first Lannister to lose it," Cersei traced her fingers along the stone. "Can you imagine his face?"

"I can," Oberyn said. "I'm just wondering why. This is a risky gamble for you. If you are caught then I doubt your father will forgive you."

"I won't be caught," Cersei said. "And even if I do, Tywin Lannister will still be known as the man whose own daughter turned against him and stole his castle."

"You hate him so much?" Oberyn asked. "I sympathize, truly, but he is your father."

"Why shouldn't I?" Cersei said. "He barely thinks of me as his daughter. He replaced me some time ago."

"Ah." Oberyn tilted his head to the side. "And you're sure this isn't about Arya Lannister?"

"She's a Stark, not a Lannister," Cersei muttered.

"Yes, of course. Apologies. But that does not answer my question," Oberyn said.

Cersei glared at him for a moment, before reminding herself that this was a potential ally. She merely had to make him see her side. "You blame my father for Elia's death. My father and the Mountain. They took away someone precious to you. I wonder...did you care for anyone in the world as much as you cared for your sister?"

Oberyn's jaw tensed. "No. I didn't."

"You must have lay in bed praying to whatever god would hear that Elia's death would be avenged...and that my father would feel the same pain you felt right then," Cersei said. "I understand. I felt that same way when I lost my son. But I can give you the vengeance you seek."

"Can you?" Oberyn asked.

"Yes," Cersei said. "If you remain at Casterly Rock and keep your people out of the crossfire, before you leave I will let you have the Mountain. As for my father...I can't promise you his life. But I can promise you he will suffer as you did."

Oberyn considered her words for a long moment, drumming his fingers on the stone. "And what does the king think of all of this?"

"The king mustn't know. I'll have him and Myrcella carefully guarded until the fighting is done," Cersei said. "But he will return to King's Landing, safe and sound. I would never let anything happen to him. He's my son."

"Of course. Then I leave him to you," Oberyn pushed off of the balcony. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Cersei said. "Do I have your word that you will keep your people away from the fighting and not intervene until it is over?"

"I have no wish for more of my people to bleed on account of Lannisters," Oberyn said. "They will steer clear of any conflict."

Cersei smirked, feeling herself swell with triumph. She had known that Oberyn would be receptive. She was the only person in the world who could truly offer him what he wanted.

Oberyn started to leave but paused in the archway. "Lady Cersei...I wonder...how is it exactly that you plan to make Lord Tywin suffer as I have."

"By taking away what he cares about most," Cersei said.

"I see," Oberyn said after a pause. "I wish you the best of luck."

Then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Cersei alone to feel very pleased with herself. Everything was beginning to come together. Soon the Farmans and the Swyfts would be under attack and her father would deal with one or both of those threats. But while his armies were split, she would sweep the real prize out from under him. What could he do then?

Cersei had set the board to win while he wasn't looking. And she was the one who would be writing the rules from now on.

"Mother!"

Cersei turned to find Myrcella running up to her, beaming from ear to ear. "Oh, hello sweetling. Did you need something?"

"Only for you to come with me." Myrcella grasped her hand. "I found the pianoforte this morning at the west wing of the keep. It's been ages since I played but...I hoped you might come and watch."

"Yes, of course." Cersei smiled, looping her arm through her daughter's. "It would be a pleasure to watch you play."

* * *

As time passed, everything continued to fall into place. When the Farmans came under attack, her father road to meet the Greyjoys head on. And when the raiders reached the Swyfts and issued a threat on their fields, her father sent a small force to deal with them as well. All of the Lannister forces, from King's Landing to the western shore, were occupied with this new war and no one even thought to fear the safety of the Rock.

Cersei imagined her father didn't remember Tyrion's little 'solution' to the Farman problem which he had spouted at dinner. But he would remember it soon enough. Perhaps he would even blame Tyrion for all of this. He did so _love_ to blame Tyrion.

Soon, she received word from Euron Greyjoy that they would arrive at Casterly Rock soon, and she set about making her final preparations. She instructed Oberyn Martell to keep his people in the upper west wing of the castle. And Tommen and Myrcella? She had an even more secure location for them.

A fortnight ago, she had summoned the Mountain to Casterly Rock, along with several soldiers loyal to him. Her purpose was threefold. First, she wanted to take away her father's most valuable mad dog so that he could not use him to deal with the Swyft problem. Second, he was meant as payment for Oberyn Martell if he stayed out of the fight. And third, there was no stronger soldier than the Mountain-and no person better suited to guarding her children.

The Mountain was brutal, yes, but he was loyal to the Lannisters without question, and he was too stupid to know that Cersei was going against her father. Cersei was a Lannister so he followed Lannister orders.

She was not a fool. Euron Greyjoy could not be trusted to follow her every order without question and she did not mean to tempt fate by leaving her children exposed. If Euron Greyjoy tried to go after either of her children, the Mountain could crush his head like an egg.

"You'll stay here until I come to fetch you," Cersei told Tommen and Myrcella. She had given them a room with two large beds and a fireplace to help them keep warm in the cold nights. They would be comfortable enough. "But until then, it is important that you do not leave."

"Mother, what is this?" Tommen asked. "If the castle is under attack, I can help."

"Of course you can," Cersei smiled, resting a hand on his cheek. "But these are orders from your grandfather. The Greyjoys are proving more dangerous than expected and we worry they may have spies in the castle. I won't have an assassin take you. So you must stay until I have sorted out the problem."

"Why must I stay too?" Myrcella asked. "Do you really think the assassins will come after me?"

"Of course they will," Cersei said. "You're a Baratheon by name, but you have Lannister blood. These people hate our family and when they see your golden hair..." She sighed, smoothing down Myrcella's curls. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes," Myrcella said. "Of course."

"Then listen. I know you're both nearly grown, but please, listen to your mother just this once." She smiled sadly. "I could not stand to see you die like your brother."

"We won't," Tommen promised her. "Are you...sure this is necessary?"

"I'm sure, Tommen," Cersei smiled.

"Then we'll stay," Tommen said. "But please, keep me informed on what's happening outside. I'm the king. I should know."

Cersei was very proud of her son in that moment. He was beginning to stand more like a king. Beginning to talk more like one. How much he had grown. "Yes, of course. I will visit as often as I can." She drew them both into her arms, hugging tightly. "Stay safe, sweetlings. I'll be back when it's all over."

And that had brought her to this moment. This triumphant moment in which she and Euron Greyjoy controlled the keep of her childhood. For once it did not belong to her father or either of her brothers or her uncle. It belonged to her and her alone. She was the only Lannister in the Rock and its fate rested in her hands.

The seat of the rock, two great golden chairs, set at the top of great stone steps, were empty-waiting for the lord and lady of the West.

 _I am the lady of the West,_ she thought. _It was always meant for me._

"Why don't you take a seat?" Euron Greyjoy asked from behind her. "That golden chair is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Cersei smiled to herself. "No...I want the seat, of course. But there is still much more work to be done."

"Of course there is. You don't seem like an easily satisfied woman," Euron said. "You don't dream small."

"Small dreams are for small people," Cersei said, climbing the steps. She let herself savor every one of them until at last she turned and sat in the chair meant for her father. She exhaled, gripping the arms tightly, feeling the power of the great seat. But Euron Greyjoy was right. It did not begin to satisfy her.

"A chair that fancy looks good on you," Euron said. "What now, Lady Lannister?"

"Now, you send your demands to my father," Cersei said. "It's his turn now. Let's see what moves he makes."

* * *

" _I have your Rock hostage and all the gold beneath. I have your daughter and granddaughter. I have the king. If you wish for them to keep their throats, send the soon to be lord and lady of Casterly Rock to negotiate. I want the Iron Islands. If you want your castle, you'll give me back mine...or Lannister blood will stain your halls."_

Arya listened in silence as Tywin read the letter, feeling her heart ram against her rib cage. At once, she saw Cersei's plan take shape. Of course, she wanted Arya and Jaime to come to the Rock. Then she would have Jaime to herself and could cut Arya's throat without much trouble. How perfectly she had set the pieces...how perfectly she had rigged the board.

"Did you suspect this would happen?" Tywin asked her as he tossed the letter onto the table.

Arya nodded once.

"Jaime told you of Tyrion's 'solution' to the Farman problem, didn't he?"

"Yes. That was what sent me riding here so quickly," Arya said. "I should have told you earlier but I was tired of arguing."

"It wouldn't have made a difference. The castle was already taken," Tywin said. "I remember when Tyrion spoke of something like this. 'What if they had a third target' he said. 'What if the Farman problem was just a distraction'? I remember that night clearly because it was one of the only times Cersei stood with Tyrion. Usually they disagreed out of principal. Not then."

"So you believe me?" Arya asked.

"Yes. I do, unfortunately," Tywin said. "We don't have any more time for doubts. We need to act quickly before this gets out of hand."

"How?" Arya asked. "They have the Rock, not to mention the king. If we attack the keep, we put Tommen in danger, and putting the castle under siege isn't handling it quickly."

"None the less, the Greyjoys can't hold it forever," Tywin said. "And Tommen isn't in danger. If Cersei is, indeed, behind this, she would never harm him."

"Euron Greyjoy would," Arya said. "That letter isn't a lie. I believe he does want the Iron Islands, and if he gets impatient, he might steal this game away from Cersei. We can't risk that. We need to get Tommen back to King's Landing and to Margaery."

Tywin gave her a strange look then and Arya realized that she hadn't told him yet. Of course she hadn't. There were far too many other things to tell.

"Margaery...told me before I left," Arya said. "She's pregnant."

Tywin exhaled. "I suspected that would happen soon enough. We'll get Tommen back to King's Landing in good time. But I see your concern. Euron Greyjoy can't be trusted with his life."

"From what I've been reading, this isn't the first time a king has been held hostage," Arya said. "Didn't you send in someone to rescue King Aerys?"

"I sent Barristan Selmy on a suicide mission that happened to work, yes," Tywin said. "I would not do the same to you."

"They'll let me into the castle," Arya pointed out.

"And kill you," Tywin said. "If Cersei is behind this, she will kill you. You understand that, don't you?"

"I understand that if I don't go to the keep, Cersei will find some other way to reach me," Arya said. "Sometimes you have to play into your opponent's strategy to get them to lower their guard."

"No. I'm not sending you or Jaime to the Rock and that's final," Tywin said flatly.

Arya bit at the inside of her cheek, looking around. "Where...is Jaime, exactly?"

"Kevan could not find him. I suspect he's wandering," Tywin said. "This truth can't be sitting well with him."

"He doesn't believe the truth," Arya said.

"No...he does. Somewhere in the back of his mind...he believes you," Tywin said. "That's why he's taking this so badly. You knew would. That's why you waited to tell him."

Arya nodded once. Yes, she knew.

"And I'm a fool for not treating Cersei as a possibility earlier," Tywin said. "All of the signs point to her but I didn't even allow myself to think it."

"She's your daughter," Arya said. "I don't blame you for that. Even I didn't think of her immediately...and I hate her."

"It seems she returns the favor," Tywin sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. "Arya...don't do anything foolish."

Arya nodded once, though she was already thinking of many foolish things that she could do. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

Sometime later, after Arya had left, Jaime wandered back into Tywin's tent, looking rather defeated. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Neither of them knew what to say.

Jaime glanced down at the note on Tywin's desk. "Is that the demands from Euron Greyjoy?"

"I suppose Kevan told you about them," Tywin said.

"He did," Jaime said. "You...never should have sent her back to the Rock like that."

Tywin did not respond. He studied his hands grimly.

"You shouldn't have ignored her at all. She wanted to learn from you. She always wanted to learn from you and if you had just _let_ her-"

"I know," Tywin said, and Jaime paused, as if he hadn't expected his father to agree. "But there's nothing I can do about that now. We have to fix the situation at hand."

Jaime exhaled and crossed to the desk, picking up the letter and reading it over a few times.

"Is there any way past these demands?" he asked.

"Our best option is to lay siege to the castle," Tywin said.

"You know that will only cause more trouble," Jaime said. "It will make us seem weak...and a siege on the Rock could take a year. The throne can't be empty for that long."

"It's not ideal, no," Tywin said.

"The only way to end this quickly is to have someone on the inside," Jaime said. "I can go to Cersei. I might be able to talk sense into her if...if she's truly behind this. You know she won't hurt me."

"I don't know that, actually," Tywin said. "If she was willing to take the Rock, why shouldn't she be willing to hurt you, Jaime? What makes you think you know here so well?"

Jaime fell silent and looked away.

"I told Arya the same thing. Both of you are the future of Lannister house. I'm not going to risk your lives," Tywin said.

"Nothing will happen to Arya. I promise."

"You cannot promise that. You couldn't promise that in the north and you can't promise it now."

"So we go with your plan then? A slow siege to weaken the west? There's another way. I have an idea that-"

"I didn't _ask_ for your ideas," Tywin said.

Jaime's jaw clenched and he stood a little bit straighter. "Of course not... You never do." He stepped back toward the entrance of the tent. "And that's what got us into this situation in the first place."

Before Tywin could say anything in retort, Jaime had already left. Tywin very nearly knocked a goblet off of his desk but he retrained himself from such an outburst.

This whole situation was madness with no clear path forward. All he could think about was the road that had led him here...and all the places he could have changed course.

* * *

Arya found herself staring out into the woods, searching for an easy solution to a complex problem. The siege, Cersei, the Greyjoys. It was a tangled web of problems that left no clear path. Yet Arya knew she couldn't sit and do nothing.

Then, in the midst of her troubled thoughts, he arrived. She was aware of him sitting next to her, though she did not look up at him. Instead she studied her hands, rubbing the stumps of her smallest fingers. She couldn't meet his gaze just then. She didn't have it in her.

"Did you...talk to your father?" she asked.

"I did. Euron Greyjoy's terms put us in a difficult position," Jaime said.

"If they were just Euron Greyjoy's terms, I wouldn't be so worried," Arya said.

Jaime didn't reply. A long silence stretched between them, and Arya had to keep herself from snapping at Jaime for no particular reason. She didn't know why she was angry at him. She didn't know why she was upset at all. She had anticipated this reaction hadn't she? She had _expected_ it.

"It's...a lot to take in; you know that, don't you?" Jaime asked at last. "I've spent the last hours trying to even wrap my mind around it. And I cannot even say...how much I want you to be wrong about this."

"I know," Arya said. Her voice came out flatter than she intended. "She was your first love. You still love her. I understand that. But regardless of whether or not I'm right...I think we can agree that Euron Greyjoy is a threat to Tommen."

"Yes, we can agree on that," Jaime said.

"Then we have to go, don't we?" Arya stood to her feet. "We have to meet his demands."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Jaime said. "That is...I agree we have to go. But we might not need to enter the keep through the front gate."

Arya's brow furrowed. "There's a secret way in."

"Yes. Courtesy of Tyrion, actually," Jaime said. "Father gave him charge of the sewers many years ago. It was supposed to be an insult but Tyrion did a better job than anyone else in the past several centuries. Of course, he found a way to work the task to his benefit. He made a passage-tucked away from sight and only accessible by boat. If you sail along the cliffs the guards can spot you."

"Why would he build a weakness into Casterly Rock's defenses?" Arya asked.

"He wanted to sneak in whores," Jaime said. "Father didn't approve of them at all. It was a way for Tyrion to rebel."

"Well, so long as Tyrion gave Cersei this plan, at least he gave us a way in," Arya said. "Perhaps if we sneak inside under cover of darkness, we can find a way to open the gate. How many soldiers can we take?"

"No soldiers," Jaime said. "If any spy sees us traveling with men in Lannister uniform, they'll report us immediately. If we travel alone and in disguise, we have a better chance."

"A better chance to die if we're caught," Arya said.

"Well, Euron Greyjoy demanded we come to meet him alone...I doubt he'll kill us immediately," Jaime said. "He wants to make a deal."

"He's already made a deal. And it isn't with us," Arya said.

Jaime's brows knit together and he looked down at his golden hand. She could see him still fighting it. Fighting the truth. Oh, how he wanted Cersei to be an innocent hostage in all of this. If only that were the case. Arya had a better chance of surviving Euron Greyjoy than Cersei Lannister.

"Arya..." Jaime said. "If...Cersei is behind this-"

"She is," Arya said.

"I...I know I just..." He shook his head. "If we're caught, I'll do what I can to make sure you leave the Rock alive. She does listen to me. I promise that nothing will happen to you."

Arya felt her heart clench for more than one reason. But mostly it was sadness that Jaime actually thought that he could control or subdue Cersei in any way. If she had gone this far already to hurt Arya, what made him think he had any power over her at all? Arya knew the truth: if they were caught, Cersei would make sure she died. And Jaime wouldn't be able to do a damn thing.

"We should go soon," she said at last. "While we still have the light. And before your father stops us." Then she turned and walked away.

As Arya went to find the horses, she found her hand clasp the knife in her belt-the knife she had dipped in poison. Even if she was killed-and it was very likely-hopefully she could take Cersei with her. She wasn't the last name on Arya's list...but she was the first she had ever added.

One way or another, she would see her name fall from that list.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So Arya and Jaime are about to go on a solo mission that is full of lots of risk. That should be very fun ;) Hope you enjoyed! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	77. Chapter 77: Realization

_**A/N: Man, last night's episode was very good for my Braime heart but makes me VERY WORRIED for next episode because Game of Thrones never lets us have nice things. But anyway, you came for today's chapter, which I honestly really like so I hope you guys do too!**_

 **Chapter 77: Realization**

Before the sun had set, Jaime and Arya had garbed themselves in nondescript clothing, ridding themselves of anything that might scream 'Lannister' or 'Stark'. Jaime covered his golden hand with a glove as it would be a dead giveaway. The only thing they kept of their house was their swords, and they made sure their cloaks hid the fine steel.

Arya managed to convince Jaime that they should take at least three of their men along-those that had proved themselves survivors in war's past. An entire battalion would surely draw attention, but five travelers on the road was not much more suspicious than two. Jaime chose three soldiers who had been with him ever since the siege of Dragonstone: Merwyn, Thomas and Phillip. Arya was passingly familiar with them from the battle of Cornfield. Merwyn, in particular, had been invaluable with helping her navigate the woods.

"All three survived infiltrating Dragonstone and the Twins," Jaime said. "I hope that their luck will hold."

"They're good at going unnoticed at least," Arya said.

Arya left a note behind with the rest of their men, instructing them to deliver it to Tywin at sunrise. This only had a chance of succeeding if the Lannister army moved close behind them-but not too closely.

They road hard all through the rest of the day and into the night. Arya did not feel an ounce of exhaustion. All she could think about was Cersei and the poisoned dagger tucked safely into a sheath at her sleeve. If they were lucky, they would be able to secure the gate at Casterly Rock and allow Tywin's soldiers in. If not...well, she had no doubt she would end up in front of Cersei at some point this night. And she was prepared for that.

Soon enough, they reached the Rock. Even in almost total darkness, it stuck out, like a great mass on the horizon. It was one of the largest keeps Arya had ever seen in her life-a monster carved out of the very stone. The castle she was meant to be the lady of...if she survived.

The darkness gave them good cover and they reached the base of the Rock without being seen. When they were on the banks, they paused for Merwyn and the others to draw in a tiny boat which Jaime knew Tyrion still had hidden there, just in case. As they did, Jaime described the castle lay out to Arya, in case they got separated.

"The courtyard is the most important," Jaime said. "There are two main gate towers and two people are needed to raise the gate-one on each side. They have a good vantage point to keep watch on the outside of the keep but there are plenty of blind spots on the inside. Namely, the smith, just behind the left guard tower. Well, it will be your right when you approach it. From there we may be able to get a sense of how many soldiers are guarding each tower."

"Right," Arya said. "Merwyn, Phillip or Thomas might be able to steal the uniform of a guard and use it to take them by surprise. If we do attack the gate towers...we can't give them any chance to raise an alarm. Then the game is over."

"Agreed," Jaime said. "I'll get us to the level of the courtyard. From where we enter, we'll have to climb several flights of stairs."

"How many is several," Arya said. "In case we get separated."

"Ten...no...eleven."

"Is it ten or eleven?"

"It's eleven. I'm sure," Jaime said. "But I'll try to get you where you need to go before I leave you."

"Try not to leave me at all," Arya suggested.

Jaime's mouth twitched into a small smile, but he did not reply, and a spike of worry shot through her.

At last, the boat was at the bank and they climbed carefully inside. It was meant for three people at most, so it tipped dangerously in the waves, but Phillip was able to steady the vessel. Then they began to row.

It was the dead of night, and the thin sliver of moon was covered by clouds. They could barely see anything and they could not light a torch without risking the guards above noticing them. Instead, they used the rocks to guide them and, sure enough, Jaime bore them safely into a little crack in the cliffs, just large enough to allow a few people inside.

The passageway was narrow and it stunk of shit, but once inside, they were able to light torches to help them see. Then Jaime led the way forward.

"Tyrion showed me this place proudly once when I visited the Rock," Jaime said. "It's been some time, but I remember the way.

They wound their way through the passage until they at last reached a dank cellar, which may have once been used for storage, but was now abandoned. Merwyn checked the hall outside the door for guards, then motioned for the rest of them to follow.

They made their way up a series of winding stairs. From seeing the keep from the outside, Arya couldn't begin to guess how many stairs were in this monster of a castle or how many floors. Jaime had given her enough to know the vague structure of the place, but she was sure it would take her years to truly know this castle...if she ever got the chance.

At last, they reached a narrow back hall and Jaime stopped them.

"We're level with the courtyard now...and the gate house. We should see how many people they have guarding the gate."

"Several if they're smart," Arya said. "More than can be taken by five people."

"Yes, probably. But we should still know exactly what we're facing."

"Hush," Thomas muttered. "Someone is coming."

They all fell silent and pressed back against the wall, listening to the sound of footsteps across the stone. Moments later, a shadow rounded the corner, and Merwyn stepped forward, seizing him and pressing a knife to his throat.

"Wait," Jaime said. "He's a Lannister man. He may be useful to us."

"Ser...ser Jaime?" the man's eyes went wide. "You...how did you..."

"I grew up in this castle. I know it well," Jaime said. "I wouldn't call for help. If you do, my friend Merwyn here will have to slit your throat."

"I won't," the soldier said quickly. "Just...thank the gods you're here. After your sister...and the Greyjoys." He shook his head. "She threatened to kill us if we didn't swear loyalty. I didn't know what else to do."

"All right, slow down," Jaime said, stepping forward. "Tell me exactly what happened, from the beginning."

"Your uncle left just enough of us behind to man the castle," the soldier said. "He knew that even if the Greyjoy's attacked, they wouldn't have the forces to overwhelm the castle. But then, one night, I woke up to screaming, and when I arrived in the courtyard, the gate was wide open, and there were Greyjoy soldiers pouring in. I...thought that we were all done for before your sister came out to meet them. Then she said...any Lannister soldier who pledged loyalty to her would be spared. We realized that she had opened the gate for the Greyjoys." The soldier swallowed. "I'm sorry. I should have fought and died but I'm meant to obey the Lannisters and your sister is a Lannister. Lord Kevan gave her charge of the keep before he left. I didn't know what else to do."

Jaime didn't reply immediately, and Arya knew exactly why. He was processing what the soldier had just confirmed-that Cersei had indeed allied with the Greyjoys and opened the gate for them. Any hope he might have had of her innocence was floundering.

"Ser Jaime?" the soldier asked.

"Don't worry. We're not here to punish you," Arya said quickly. "You are sworn to obey the lord of this castle, and Cersei was left in charge. No one blames you for that." She smiled. "What's your name?"

"Derron," the soldier murmured.

"Derron," Arya repeated. "Tell me...are you still loyal to House Lannister and Lord Tywin?"

"Yes," the soldier sputtered out. "Yes, of course."

"And are there other's like you?"

"Many," the soldier said.

"Good. Then you should gather those others," Arya said. "Lord Tywin is on the way here now with a great force of soldiers. You know the castle will fall eventually, even if it takes a year, and if it does, he will show no mercy to those who helped the Greyjoys hold it." She paused and let the fear of Tywin's wrath take hold in his eyes before she continued. "But if you were to help open the gate for him as Cersei's men did for the Greyjoys...he would forgive you then. He would know your loyalty."

Derron considered this for a long moment, before his face melted into one of relief. "Yes...yes, he would know." He leaned forward. "I am loyal to Lord Tywin Lannister. Please, let me help you lady..." He shook his head. "I'm...I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"It's Arya," she replied. "Arya Lannister."

"Oh. My lady." The soldier bowed his head. "You...you shouldn't have come here. She's looking for you."

"Then we can't let her know I'm here," Arya said.

"Can you gather those loyal to my father?" Jaime asked at last. It seemed he had finally found his voice. "Gather as many as you can but quietly. Then meet behind the smith. Don't make a sound and don't draw attention. If you are seen, play drunk. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Derron said.

"Good. Merwyn, Thomas," Jaime looked at their men. "Go with our new friend here. If you begin to suspect he is lying, cut his throat. We will meet you behind the smith in half an hour." He looked to Phillip. "And you...scout ahead and find the quickest, safest path to the smith. We don't want to run into any guards. Once you've found a way, come back and join us."

All three of the soldiers nodded. And Merwyn pulled his blade away from Derron's throat. Then he pulled the soldier off the wall and pushed him down the hall. "You heard him. Don't try anything clever. We're all better fighters than you."

Arya watched the four men hurry down the hall and out of sight. "We may have more allies than we thought."

"It seems so," Jaime murmured.

She glanced at him. "Are you...all right?"

"Yes... I'm fine." He exhaled. "Wait here until Phillip comes back. If he doesn't return in half an hour...well, you remember where I told you the smith was?"

"Just behind the left gate tower," Arya said. "But why are you asking me if I remember? You're coming with me."

Jaime shook his head. "So long as you're making a play to open the gate, it's important that we keep Cersei distracted."

Arya's eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. "No. Jaime... _no_. I understand you think that you can convince her to stand down, but you can't. A woman who is willing to go this far...she won't stop now." She gripped Jaime's sleeve. "Come with me. We secure the gate. We wait for your father. We open it for his men. Please."

Jaime gave a sad smile which broke something inside of Arya like glass. "Don't worry. I'll tell her that I came alone. That might give you a better chance."

"I don't want a better chance. I don't want to _lose_ you," Arya hissed.

Jaime stared at her, as if he had just realized something both very important and very surprising, though Arya could not begin to guess what. "Arya..."

"No," Arya said. "You're staying with me. We're staying together. Do _not-_ "

She didn't get any further. Mid sentence, his head bent and she felt his lips press against hers, swallowing her protests. A spasm of emotions crashed through Arya. Fury, grief, joy and one thousand other unnamed little feelings. Her thoughts died away, and for a moment, there was only him, and the warmth of his hand on her cheek and his lips on hers.

When he pulled back, she found herself entirely mute. What had she been about to say? She didn't remember. Something about not being foolish. But all she managed was his name. "Jaime..."

"It's all right," Jaime murmured. "Trust me."

Then he stood and hurried off in the opposite direction, leaving Arya sitting alone in the corridor. She felt her vision blur as tears of confusion rose to her eyes.

 _What in the...seven hells... He picks that moment? Out of all moments, that was the one he chose?_

Arya sat back against the wall, drawing in a shuddering breath. Part of her wanted to run after Jaime right then and knock him over the head with his own hand and ask what made him think he could do _that_ then run.

But there wasn't time for that. She had a job to do, and if she couldn't find a way to open the gate, she might never get to snap at him about his poor timing.

So she took a deep breath. She waited in the darkness for half an hour, just as Jaime said, until Phillip finally returned.

"Where's Ser Jaime?" he asked.

"He has another objective," she muttered, standing to her feet. "You found a safe path?"

"Yes," Phillip said.

"Good," Arya said. "Then let's get to work."

* * *

When they were children, Jaime and Cersei's mother had caught them together, exploring strange feelings they did not yet understand, and she had promptly moved Cersei to the other side of the castle. They were lucky she had not told their father at once, but the distance was quite unbearable to Jaime.

Naturally, he got very good at sneaking through the halls at night, using narrow backways and hidden stairs and unguarded windows. Soon, he became an expert at finding his way to Cersei's room without anyone noticing. And he became an expert at sneaking back before the break of dawn.

Time had passed but the keep had not changed. The same halls and stairs and windows led Jaime exactly where he wanted to go, until at last, he reached Cersei's balcony and landed in a soft crouch just outside the doorway. Her curtains were gusting in the breeze and just past them, Jaime saw her form glide just behind them. It was familiar to him, and yet so distant at the same time.

If he forgot everything about the past few days-perhaps even the past few years-he could imagine her as she was: Strong and willful and beautiful and everything he had ever wanted when he was a boy. But Jaime's memories plagued him, and all the evidence was against her.

Still... he needed to see it for himself.

Jaime exhaled and stepped through the curtains, into the familiar sanctuary of Cersei's room. She was sitting at her mirror, brushing through her long blonde hair. He let himself pass into the reflection so that she could see him.

At once she was on her feet, knocking her chair over as she spun. Her face was pure relief as she saw him. "Jaime...you came for me."

Jaime felt his knees go weak as she crossed to him, wrapping her arms tight around his waste. He felt her cheek rest against his chest and it took everything in him not to embrace her in return. It had been so long...since they had seen each other.

"I knew you would. I knew you wouldn't leave me with this scum." Cersei pulled back to look at him, brushing back his blonde hair with her fingers. Her expression was so...joyful in that moment that Jaime could honestly believe that she was a prisoner and not the mastermind behind this plot. She looked so grateful to see him.

Jaime swallowed hard. "The...children? Where are they? Tommen and Myrcella."

"I don't know where they put them," Cersei said. "But they're alive. I'm sure of that." She shook her head. "Gods...I've missed you, Jaime."

She leaned up, drawing his face down to hers, kissing him deeply. Jaime's whole body shuddered at the touch of her lips. It was like some distant dream, kissing her again. He had nearly forgotten what she tasted like. Nearly forgotten the feeling of her body pressing against his. For a long moment, he wanted nothing more to lose himself.

But he didn't. With every bit of will power he could muster, he grasped her shoulder and pulled back to look at her. She looked up at him surprise, as if she could not fathom him breaking the kiss.

"Cersei..." he murmured. "How did the Greyjoys get inside?"

"They're raiders and thieves," Cersei said. "I assume they have ways. Perhaps they climbed the walls."

"Casterly Rock is not an easy keep to climb," Jaime said.

"You've never tried it. I suppose you wouldn't know," Cersei pulled away from him, pacing to the other side of the room. "What does it matter how they got in. They're here now and we need to deal with them."

"I agree," Jaime said. "Cersei...do you remember the Farman problem?"

Cersei paused in her path but did not answer immediately. The silence was a barb in Jaime's heart, and he kept talking to fill it.

"It was a stupid little question that father gave us once, a long time ago. I'm sure you remember it," he said. "You were so upset after you got the answer wrong. And you've always been good at holding grudges, haven't you?"

"Why are we talking about one of father's old riddles?" Cersei asked flatly. She did not turn to look at him.

"Just tell me if you remember it," Jaime said.

Cersei exhaled. Jaime wanted her to deny knowing anything about the Farman problem. He wanted her to swear that she didn't know what he was talking about. Instead she turned to face him, her green eyes hard and her smile like poisoned.

"Who figured it out? Was it you or father?"

Jaime swallowed hard. It was all true. Every bit of it. Cersei had turned on the west and before that, caused a civil war in the north. All for revenge.

"I suspect it was father," Cersei crossed to her dresser, pouring herself a goblet of wine. "You didn't exactly inherit his mind. When did he find out exactly? Did you see his face when he realized?"

"I did," Jaime said. "But father wasn't the one who figured it out. Neither of us did."

Cersei's brow furrowed. Then it twisted as anger crossed her face.

"Ah yes...your little wolf wife. I should have known father gave _her_ the Farman problem." Her words dripped like acid. "Did she get it right? She's so perfect, I imagine she did."

"No. She got it wrong," Jaime said. "I really don't know why that problem ever mattered to you."

"Of course you don't," Cersei said. "You're the first born son. How could you possibly understand?" She took a long draught of her wine and Jaime watched a tiny drop roll down the corner of her mouth. His whole world felt as if it was crumbling to ashes. He wanted this to be a nightmare and he wanted to wake from it. "Is she here?"

Jaime blinked. "What?"

"Arya _Stark_ ," Cersei emphasized the family name. "Is she here with you?"

"No," Jaime lied. "I came alone. I was hoping to reason with you."

"That's very sweet Jaime...that you still had faith in me," Cersei's smirk softened into a smile. "I suppose you always have. That's why I love you so much."

"Please, Cersei," Jaime said. "You have to end this. The game has gone on for too long."

"No," she said. "It's only just beginning."

"You don't have the resources to win in the end," Jaime said. "And you certainly can't keep the king here throughout an entire siege. If you surrender now, father-"

"No," Cersei said. "No...I'm not interested in letting father win again. He _always_ wins. Not this time."

"It's not about winning," Jaime said. "I don't want to lose you, Cersei."

Her face softened, but with pity rather than regret. "My knight in shining armor. You really did come to try to rescue me, didn't you? Well, I'm the one who is going to rescue you."

Jaime blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"You never wanted to be father's heir," Cersei said. "And you never wanted to marry. That's why you joined the King's Guard in the first place. You just wanted to fight...and you wanted me." She smiled gently. "Father pulled you away from all that. He's been pulling the strings on our lives for so long. I can set you free from that."

"How exactly?" Jaime asked. "You're not seriously thinking of killing our father. Tell me you aren't speaking of that."

"Of course not. No, I don't want him to die. I want him to watch all of his carefully laid plans burn," Cersei said. "He's not the one I need to kill."

Jaime's jaw clenched. "Leave her be, Cersei. She hasn't done anything to deserve this from you."

"Oh, I think she has," Cersei said. "Are you protective of her, Jaime? One worthless Stark girl that you never wanted to marry? I know you like to play at being honorable, but you don't have to pretend with me."

"If you let her go, I'll stay here with you," Jaime said. "That's what you want isn't it?"

"It's one of the things I want," Cersei said. "I understand...you've tried to make the best of your circumstances with that girl. Perhaps you've even gotten a bit attached to her. But sometimes, we all have to make hard choices." She tilted her head to the side. "So where is she, Jaime?"

"I...told you, she's not here," Jaime said. "She's with father."

"You're not a very good liar," Cersei said. "She's somewhere in the keep, isn't she? Tell me where."

Jaime shook his head. "Just let her go."

"That's all right. You don't have to tell me. We'll find her." She crossed to the door and knocked twice. Moments later, six Greyjoy soldier, armed with bows and pikes, swarmed the room and surrounded him. "I'm curious, Jaime...do you think she's gotten attached to you as well?"

"Don't do this," Jaime pleaded. He was losing his grip on her...on everything. Once, his words could calm the storm in Cersei but he had never seen her quite like this. Still, he begged her. "You don't have to do this."

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough if she has." Cersei stepped aside, leaving the doorway open. "Escort Ser Jaime to the Golden Hall. I'll be there shortly."

Jaime opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the Greyjoy men were upon him, disarming him and marching him from the room. At one point, Jaime could have cut through every one of them, but with only one hand and a clouded mind, he barely even managed a struggle.

In his heart, Jaime knew this had gone past the point of no return. And before dawn broke...he was sure someone he cared for would be dead.

* * *

 _ **A/N: For all of you who have been shouting in the reviews for Jaime and Arya to kiss...there's your wish! Now, it's about time for everything to start going down lol. Also, someone made a TV tropes page for this fanfic which is literally insane and I don't know how to process it but...ya know...take a gander if you're curious! A usual, reviews, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	78. Chapter 78: The Golden Hall

_**A/N: Alrighty, here's a nice long and tense chapter for you all. I apologize in advance because I am back on my cliffhanger bullshit! Enjoy :)**_

 **Chapter 78: The Golden Hall**

In the courtyard behind the smith, Arya found ten men waiting for her. Merwyn looked up as she and Phillip crouched behind the wall, resting a hand on his sword for a moment, then relaxing as he saw their faces.

"Ser Jaime?" he asked.

 _Doing something foolish,_ Arya thought, but did not say for fear to stirring up doubt in the soldiers. "Elsewhere. He sent me to help you all."

Merwyn paused for a moment to consider this before he nodded. After all, Jaime had done the same thing in the battle of Cornfield. It would not be so strange to him. "Good. I have ten here. Thomas has another twelve in a blind spot behind the right guard tower."

"How many in each tower?" Arya asked.

"Hard to see from here," Merwyn said. "But one of the soldiers reports that six is the usual number for each."

"So we out number them," Arya said.

"We'd beat them in a straight fight, yes," Merwyn said. "But it needs to be a quiet fight too. If they raise an alarm, it's over for us."

"Yes," Arya said. "It's fortunate that we have soldiers who are supposedly loyal to Cersei."

Besides Merwyn, Derron shifted nervously. "What do you want us to do?"

"Can you pretend to be the next shift of guards?" Arya asked.

"No. It's mostly Greyjoy men defending the gate," Derron said. "And a few soldiers _truly_ loyal to Cersei. They'll know we're not supposed to be there."

"Alright," Arya said. "In that case...which of you can play a convincing drunk?"

Arya's strategy was not fool proof but it would hopefully be just enough to catch the guards by surprise. In that surprise, they would have a very small window in which they could kill them all and secure the tower. If they failed, there would be no opening the gate and no salvation from Tywin's armies.

Over the next hour, each of their men moved quickly and quietly to the guard tower, piling into the empty stairwell as quietly as they possibly could. Arya was the last of them to enter the tower and she held her breath in the darkness before nodding to three of the soldiers who had agreed to make themselves a distraction.

They started up the stairs and, near the top, began to make a great, drunken ruckus, stumbling as they stepped and laughing too loudly. Arya heard one of the Greyjoy men snap about how they shouldn't be here and a soldier replied that they 'just came up for the view'. They shut the door behind them and at once, Arya surged forward, leading the other soldiers up the stairway and to the door at the top. They waited for a few breaths, listening to make sure that the Greyjoy watchmen were completely distracted. Then Arya gave Merwyn a nod.

Merwyn shoved the door open, darting into the room and driving his knife through the eye of one of the soldiers. Arya followed immediately after, cutting the throat of a Greyjoy guard just as he was about to call for help. In only a few seconds, their enemies lay dead and the stone of the guard tower was stained red with blood.

Arya held her breath as she waited to hear a horn or a bell or a call of alarm from the other guard tower. But all she heard was silence. She looked out the small window and saw someone waving a torch on the other side. Success...they had been successful. She released a breath and leaned back against the wall.

"All right, we have the towers," Merwyn said. "Now what."

"Now we hold them until dawn," Arya said. "Derron...when do the shifts change?"

"It used to be an hour or so before daybreak," Derron said. "Now I'm not sure."

"Well, keep alert," Arya said. "When the new shift comes, take care of them. It is vital that we hold these towers until Lord Tywin arrives. Do _nothing_ to attract attention." She glanced down at the floor, stepping out of the path of a growing pool of blood. "Find a place to put these bodies and clean this place up best you can. Move discreetly."

"Some of them will fit in the closet," Derron said. "We'll find a place for the others."

"Good." Arya glanced at Merwyn. "I'll leave you in charge of this tower and Thomas in charge of the other. I trust you'll make sure the gate opens for Lord Tywin."

"Yes, m'lady," Merwyn said. "And where will you be?"

"Looking for the king," Arya said. "He's hostage here somewhere. I need to find him and secure him before Euron Greyjoy tries anything."

"Forgive me, m'lady, but I don't think that's wise," Merwyn said. "Cersei is looking for you. If you wander the keep, you make yourself an easy target."

"There's already a risk that she knows I'm here," Arya said. At this point, Jaime was likely with her and she had no doubt that it was not going well. She would know that Arya had come with him. "Better that I be far away from you when she comes looking for me. She cannot know about the gate. With any luck, she'll be so focused on finding me that she will ignore the rest of you."

"We can fight, m'lady," said another soldier. "We do not need you to put yourself in danger for us."

Arya's mouth twitched into a smile. "I don't mean to discredit your fighting skill. But opening the gate is what keeps the Lannister family from a year long siege against itself. Focus on protecting your home before you focus on protecting me."

"Take Phillip with you at least," Merwyn said. "You need someone to watch your back and he knows the Rock well."

Arya considered this for a moment, then nodded. "All right. I could use a guide." She looked around. "Does anyone know where the king might be?"

"The west wing," a soldier in the back corner spoke up. "I heard the Greyjoys talking about it. Apparently there's a beast of a man guarding the king and the princess. I don't know exactly where though."

"A beast of a man," Arya repeated. "Should make him easy to spot at least." She motioned to Phillip. "Come on. No time to waste."

Phillip nodded and they both started for the stairs. When Arya hit the doorway, Derron called out to her.

"M'lady."

Arya turned back to face him and all of the other soldiers. "Yes?"

"I..." He bowed his head. "Good luck."

Arya gave him a small smile. "And to you." Then she turned and rushed after Phillip again. There were still a few hours left until dawn, and she had no guarantee that Tywin would make it in time or that her men would be able to hold the gate. But at least there was a chance.

Now she had to hope that both her and Jaime would survive to see that dawn.

Phillip was an excellent guide for the Rock. Apparently, he had lived there as a child. His mother had been a cook in the kitchens and he often watched her work. Then he spent his free time wandering the narrow back passages of the keep, letting himself get lost and then working to find his way back again.

"More than once, my mother beat me for disappearing on her," he said. "I got lost for too long."

"Hopefully you won't get us lost here," Arya said.

"Never, m'lady," Phillip said. "I'm not a child anymore."

The number of guards in the keep was minimal. Greyjoy had a fair number of men, but only enough to defend the walls. Many of the Lannister men who resisted had been killed and the castle was currently short staffed. It was lucky for Arya and Phillip. That meant they had a better chance of going unnoticed.

When they reached the west wing, they slowed their pace, moving very carefully around corners, looking for this supposed monster of a man guarding the king and princess. It did not take long to spot him. When Arya glanced around the corner, she saw his shadow, and even from a distance, she was sure of his identity. The Mountain. No other man stood so tall or so terrifying.

 _At least Cersei doesn't trust the Greyjoys,_ Arya thought. She had given her children the very best guard in the Seven Kingdoms, knowing they could be in danger. Arya guessed that her plan was already in motion when Tommen and Myrcella arrived and she could not do anything to change it. So instead she locked her children away for safety.

Arya found her thoughts turning to the Dornishmen who had gone with Myrcella and a spike of panic went through her. Surely Cersei had not been so foolish as to kill them. A Lannister murdering not one but _two_ princes of Dorne would be an act of war and they could not afford to enter another such conflict.

 _Either she killed the Dornish...or she made a deal with Oberyn. Neither option is ideal,_ she thought.

With a long breath, Arya leaned back against the wall, trying to think.

"Well?" Phillip asked. "I'm not sure we'll get past the Mountain to secure the king and princess."

"No. Not alone," Arya said. "It may be better to leave them here. I think the Mountain is there to protect them from the Greyjoys. That means Cersei ensured their safety."

Of course, the Greyjoys could end the Mountain with a well-placed arrow. His armor was strong but there were weak spots.

"If the King and princess are safe then we should find a place to hide as well," Phillip suggested. "Wait out the night until Lord Tywin arrives."

"Yes..." Arya murmured. But then, there was Jaime to worry about. She did not like leaving him alone with Cersei. Still, it wouldn't be wise to run off and find them. "Where do you suggest?"

Phillip stood from a crouch. "I have some ideas. There's a-"

He got not further before an arrow sprouted from his eye. Panic spiked through Arya and at once she rose and strung her bow, aiming in the direction of the culprit. She found five arrows pointing right back at her.

In the center of those arrows stood a man with a long dark coat and a wide, wicked smile. That smile made her whole body feel cold. For a moment, in the shadows, his face had looked like that of Ramsay.

But no...he was older than Ramsay and taller. And his skin was not so pale. She repeated those facts a few times in her mind to reassure herself that no ghosts had returned to life. Then she steadied her hands on her bow.

"Hello there," the man said. "Arya Lannister, yes? Or is it Stark? Your sister in law _insists_ that your name is still Stark."

"Call me what you'd like," Arya said. "Are you Euron Greyjoy?"

Euron gave a little bow. "At your service."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Arya said. "The poison in my wine suggested otherwise."

"That wasn't me actually. It was Cersei," Euron said. "She recruited me soon afterward though, so if you'd like to blame me, I don't mind. I've done worse."

"I'll be you have," Arya said. "So...do you think I can kill you before your men kill me?"

"We've been ordered to bring you alive to Cersei," Euron said.

"Where I will soon after die, no doubt," Arya said tightly. "I'd rather deny her the pleasure and rid her of a powerful ally."

"I'm sure you would," Euron said. "But if you don't come with us...what will happen to your husband?"

A chill went through Arya and she tightened her grip on her bow. Her three fingers trembled where they clutched the string.

"Jaime Lannister came to see Cersei...to beg her to stop this pointless rebellion. He was not successful in that," Euron said. "Now he's in the Golden Hall. You shouldn't keep your husband waiting."

"Cersei won't kill him," Arya said. "That much I know. His life is in no danger."

"Perhaps not," Euron said. "His other hand might be though."

Arya's heart clenched. Jaime's hand...his only hand...it had been such a trial for him to learn to fight with his left, but at least there had been a chance to teach him. With no hands, he would have no chance, and he would fade to a shadow of his old self.

"It would be a shame for him to lose that hand, don't you think?" Euron tilted his head to the side. "Not that he's very good with it, but at least it's _something_. No one wants to see a knight with no hands. That's just pathetic."

 _Cersei wouldn't hurt him so badly,_ Arya thought. _She wouldn't. She loved him once. She...still loves him. She wouldn't..._

But Arya wasn't sure. That was the terrifying thing. She was not sure enough of Cersei to know whether or not this was a bluff. It had been too long since they had seen each other and Arya could not gauge how far gone she had become. But if she was willing to turn against Tywin...maybe she would be willing to remove Jaime's other hand in order to keep him with her.

Arya could not risk that. She could not risk leaving him to that fate.

Slowly, Arya lowered her bow. Euron chuckled and waved his men forward. She expected them to rip her weapons from her but instead they only formed a circle around her, cutting off any route of escape. They took her bow, but not her swords.

"You mean to leave me most of my weapons?" Arya asked.

"A request from Cersei," Euron said. Arya's eyes narrowed and he laughed. "Ah, I know, it's not very typical is it? But that's what makes her so fun." He stepped to the side with a grand gesture, encouraging Arya to start walking. "After you."

And Arya had no choice but to go.

The Golden Hall was a marvelous spectacle that could have rivaled the throne room of King's Landing. The room was carved from stone, with great columns on either side, but its floor was polished marble, cracked with golden veins. Arya had no time to take in the great expanse of the room as the great stone doors closed behind her. She only had time to look ahead, and when she did, she saw the seat of the Rock.

The golden chairs were set at the top of a mountain of steps so that any who sat in them could look down on their subjects. Arya imagined it was a trial to climb those steps every day, but it must have made one feel very powerful. It certainly made Cersei look that way.

She was sitting in one of the seats, her head held high and proud, and her slender fingers gripping onto its edge. She looked like she belonged there, with her long red gown and shining golden hair. Arya suspected she had wished to sit upon that throne all of her life. Now she had it and she would never give it up without a fight.

Arya's gaze was drawn downward to the foot of the steps. On one side, she recognized Oberyn, perching on the edge of the third step, carefully cleaning his spear. His hands were unbound and no one guarded him. He looked up at Arya with an unreadable expression and her jaw tightened. So it seemed Oberyn had cut a deal with Cersei. She did not blame him, of course. He had his people to think of. Still, she did not wish to stand against him as an enemy.

Arya didn't have time to think on it. Instead, she tore her eyes away from him and looked to the other side of the steps, where Jaime stood. He was surrounded by Greyjoy men. His hands were bound together, flesh pressed against gold, and his weapons were taken. At the sight of Arya, all of the color drained from his face and he got the most hopeless look in his eyes.

 _You shouldn't have come,_ he seemed to say. _You should have left me._

Yes. Perhaps she should have. Perhaps she should have waited for Tywin's arrival and hoped that Cersei would not make good on her threat.

But she...could not bring herself to take that risk.

Arya exhaled, steeled herself, then began the long walk down the hall. Her footsteps echoed off of the stone, louder than any of the soldiers trailing behind her. She was likely going to die here, but if she was meant to finally meet Death in this place, she had every intention of introducing him to Cersei as well.

At last, she stopped a few paces from the foot of the stairs. She lifted her chin because she had no choice and looked Cersei straight in the eye. "Well?" she asked. "Here I am."

"Here you are," Cersei said. "A clever girl would have stayed far away from me."

"A clever girl wouldn't have taken a castle she can't keep," Arya replied flatly.

Cersei laughed once. "Sharp tongued. You always were. Not that it makes any difference now." She stood from her seat. "I hear you went without a fight. That doesn't seem very like you. Why did you come here when you know you won't leave this hall alive?"

Arya should not have looked at Jaime then. She should have held Cersei's gaze. But her eyes flickered to him for just a half second, taking in that awful, fearful look on his face, before fixing on Cersei again.

"I see," Cersei smiled. "Do you love him, Lady Arya? I'm very curious about that. After all, you used to despise Lannisters. But why would you be here unless you did?"

Arya swallowed hard. She did not have an answer for that question, nor would she give Cersei the satisfaction of trying to come up with one. "Does it matter why I came? I'm here. Now what do you want from me?"

"I want everything you stole which is rightfully mind," Cersei said. "Tell me...Lady Arya. Why did my father choose you? Why did he give you so much while he sent me away? I'm his daughter. His only daughter. And yet you..." She shook her head. "I've been thinking so often of 'why'. But I never can come up with the answer."

"If you're looking for the answer, you won't find it with me," Arya said. "I don't know why. Not anymore than you."

Cersei gave her an acidic smile. Then she glanced down. "That sword...it's the one my father gave you, isn't it?"

Arya did not reply, but rested her hand on the hilt.

"I was never allowed to take up a sword when I was a child. That was a privilege only for Jaime. Because I was a woman, meant to learn to be a perfect wife." Cersei came down the steps slowly, one at a time, never taking her eyes off of Arya. "He told me it was the way of the world. And yet...he gives you a sword. That doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"No," Arya said. "It doesn't."

"Well," Cersei said. "I wonder...are you any good with that blade?"

Arya's eyes narrowed. She noticed Cersei drawing closer and wondered if she would come close enough for her to strike her with her poisoned dagger. She would have to wait for the perfect opening. "I'm good enough."

Cersei smiled. "Let's find out."

Out of the corner of her eye, Arya caught a flicker of movement and heard the scrape of a sword being drawn. On instinct, she drew Winter's Fury from its sheath, turning and blocking the fall of the blade. Her arms rang with the impact.

All around her, she heard more swords scraping and she knew that she was moments away from being surrounded. With a hiss, she leapt back out of the way of the first attacker, positioning herself so that no one was behind her or in her blind spot. She counted four attackers but there were more behind them, waiting their turn. More than she could take alone.

It was strange to her that Cersei would allow her to go down with a sword in her hand. It seemed an honorable death, and Arya would have thought Cersei would want her to die screaming. But maybe this wasn't just a punishment for her. Maybe it was for Jaime as well. He was being made to watch it all, with no sword in sight.

Arya would not protest. If Cersei wished for her to show her skill with a blade, she would show her. What had she been training for all these years...if not for this?

 _What do we say to the god of death?_

Syrio Forel's voice echoed in her head. He was far away, still at King's Landing, but she felt him as if he were standing right by her side.

 _Not today,_ she thought. _Not for Cersei. Not in front of Jaime. Not today._

The first two men lunged at her from either side. Arya ducked beneath the stroke of their blades, dragging her own across the stomach of the first. In the same breath, she drew one of her knives and slashed the second man behind the knee. As he fell, she cut his throat.

But before he had even fallen to the ground, two more soldiers replaced him. Arya was forced to throw herself to the side to avoid their blades. She rolled and struggled to stand and scramble out of their range. As she did she felt a sharp pain at her arm as a knife cut her. She spun, throwing out her sword in the direction of the attacker but Euron Greyjoy danced out of the way returning to the sidelines with a laugh.

Arya blocked another strike. Then another. They rained down upon her and she was moving on instinct, only one thought repeating in her head, over and over again.

 _Not today. Not today. Not today._

She felled another soldier by stabbing through the eye with her knife. Then when his companion tried to take advantage of an opening, she let herself fully drop to the ground beneath the stroke of his sword and roll between his legs before coming up behind him and cutting across the back of his knees. She ended him with a quick swipe of Winter's Fury and his blood mixed with that of his companion's on the ground.

Arya's arms were trembling from the effort of fighting and she turned slowly to see that more soldiers were approaching her. Not just Greyjoys. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Oberyn approaching as well, at a rather leisurely pace, turning his spear in his hand.

He had made a deal with Cersei. She imagined Cersei had offered him the vengeance he desired. Not just against the Mountain...Against Tywin as well. Perhaps she told him he could have everything he wanted...if he just helped her to kill one girl.

She wasn't sure she could blame him for that. Oberyn didn't know Arya well. If anything, she was an obstacle to his vengeance on Tywin. She might do the same if it meant avenging her family. But...she could not beat him in a fight. Not with this many others around.

The soldiers continued to come. One or two at a time, as if Cersei was toying with her. Arya was shocked that Euron Greyjoy was willing to risk so many of his men, but maybe he saw them as tools just like Cersei did. Pawns in a fun little game.

Soon the white and gold floor was stained red with blood. Greyjoy blood mostly, though more than one had managed to nick Arya's arms with their blades. She was exhausted and gasping for breath. But she had not time to rest.

A giant of a soldier came at her then and when she raised her sword to block, he knocked it right out of her hands, sending it spinning across the floor. Then he kicked her legs out from under her and she hit the ground with a gasp.

Moments later, there were hands on her arms, pulling her onto her knees. Two Greyjoy soldiers had her pinned between them and she could not reach her weapons. Her heart raced and she looked around, hoping for some sort of miracle.

"Cersei, _stop_ ," she heard Jaime's voice from across the room, though she could not turn to see him. The giant Greyjoy was blocking her vision as he approached, turning his sword in hand. "Let her go. I'll do anything. _Please_."

Arya shuddered as she looked from the soldier to his sword and watched it rise.

 _I'm going to die,_ she thought. So many times she had come close to death...it was almost like an old friend. She had been prepared to die before when she threw herself from the walls of Winterfell to avoid Ramsay. She had accepted it. But now...

She did not want to die yet.

 _Jaime,_ she thought. _I'm sorry._

The sword fell, but it did not strike Arya. Rather, it clattered to the ground, just as the tip of a spear sprouted from the man's throat. He slumped to the ground, revealing Prince Oberyn, spinning his blood weapon in his hand. Then, before either of the other soldiers could react, he cut both their throats with a smooth strike that brushed just over Arya's head. She felt their grips loosen as they fell away and she dropped onto her hands and knees, drawing in a shuddering breath she thought she might never take.

"Prince Oberyn," Cersei's voice was shrill and furious. "What are you doing?"

"Perhaps you did not understand me earlier, Lady Cersei," Oberyn said, looking up at her. "But we do not punish innocents in Dorne for the crimes of the guilty." He gave her a wicked smile. "And I do not need a Lannister to _hand me_ my vengeance. I am perfectly capable of taking it myself in my own time."

A relieved smile passed over Arya's face and she turned to look for Jaime. He seemed to release a breath when he met her eyes and some of the color came back to his face. Oberyn extended a hand to Arya and she gladly accepted, letting him pull her to her feet. Then she looked defiantly back at Cersei.

At first, the woman was speechless with anger. But then, a very troubling smile spread across her face. The smile of someone who had claimed victory. "It doesn't matter now. _My_ vengeance has already begun."

Arya's brow furrowed and she looked around, expecting to see another threat. The only Greyjoy soldier nearby was Euron and he was smirking, twirling his dagger in his hand. It was still stained with her blood. He gave her a knowing look, holding the dagger up so that she could see.

Arya's eyes widened and she was suddenly aware of her arm throbbing where Euron had cut her. Slowly she looked from the wound back to him back to Cersei.

"You understand, don't you, Lady Arya?" Cersei said.

"Understand what?" Jaime asked. "What have you done?"

 _She won,_ Arya thought, feeling her mind fog with fear.

Once, many years ago, Tywin had told Arya that she reminded him of his daughter, a statement she had resented at the time. But now that she was older, Arya could not deny some of the similarities. They were both stubborn and fierce as the animals of their houses. And they were willing to go to great lengths to protect what was there's.

In the end, it seemed they had even thought of the same underhanded trick. Arya had meant to strike Cersei with a poison blade...but Cersei had gotten to her first.

Euron Grejoy had cut poison into Arya's blood. And now her life belonged to the woman she had replaced.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Haha, anyway, I'm truly sorry and I know I am the worse but...yep, here we are. Now we all get to suffer and wait for the next episode of the show to destroy us and then my chapter on Monday lol. Thanks so much for all of the great reviews last time. I regret that I often don't have time to answer them all but I treasure them!**_

 _ **Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	79. Chapter 79: An Impossible Choice

_**A/N: MAN it is a GOOD DAY TO BE AN ARYA STAN! No spoilers up here but spoilers at the end, just a fucking warning. I'm so hyped. On another note, I apologize because I did not mean to schedule for one of the more intense chapters to be right after the panic attack inducing Battle of Winterfell. So if you guys are looking for a cool down lol, this ain't it.**_

 _ **None the less, I loved writing it so ENJOY!**_

 **Chapter 79: An Impossible Choice**

Arya's first thought was one of panic. And her second thought was of her knife. She had promised to drag Cersei to the seven hells with her if need be, and she did not know how soon the poison would take her. She had to act quickly.

But as soon as she reached for the blade up her sleeve, Euron drew an arrow and aimed it at Jaime. "Don't move," Euron purred. "You'll spoil the game."

Jaime struggled against his captors as he seemed to finally understand what Cersei had done. "You _poisoned_ her? You couldn't trust your own men to kill her so you _poisoned_ her."

"I'm sure Lady Arya wouldn't mind dying by a sword like all the great heroes," Cersei said. "But I think this is a better end. The kind of end you can't fight with a blade."

"What poison did you use?" Oberyn asked flatly.

"It's a variant on one I'm sure you're familiar with. It's often used in Dorne," Cersei said. "They call it the Long Farewell, I believe?"

Arya watched Oberyn's expression darken and she shivered. She could already tell that it was not a pleasant sort of poison, though very few were.

"The poison takes time to work, depending on the victim's constitution," Cersei said. "But death is certain unless one has an antidote. And this particular variant... well the antidote only has a narrow window of opportunity in which it can work. Otherwise, it's too late."

Jaime tried to take a step forward and three of the Greyjoy soldiers had to physically restrain him. "Then where's the antidote? I know you have it."

"You're right. I do," Cersei said, reaching up to undo the clasp of her necklace. Arya had only just now noticed it-a little vial filled with clear liquid. "Don't worry, Jaime. I'm giving it to you."

Arya's eyes narrowed as she passed Jaime by and dangled the vile over his bound wrists. He caught it in his hand as she dropped it, but the Greyjoy soldiers did not move to let him go. This was a trap of some kind. A trick. Cersei wouldn't just hand over the antidote.

"There's not a chance that's the antidote," Arya muttered. "Maybe you're lying about the blade and you're hoping that Jaime poisons me himself."

"The antidote is real, I assure you," Cersei said, crossing over to Euron. Then, Arya watched as she took the poisoned blade from him and drew it across her forearm. "But there's only enough for one."

The blood drained from Jaime's face and his mouth dropped open a fraction. Arya couldn't hide her shock either. She couldn't...possibly mean to...

"I told you, Jaime," Cersei murmured. "Sometimes, we all have to make hard choices." Then she nodded to the guards to let Jaime go. They stepped away from him, leaving him standing alone, clutching a tiny bottle in his hand.

Now Arya saw Cersei's game and the reality of it knocked the breath from her lungs. Moments ago, she was naïve enough to think that forcing Jaime to helplessly watch a fight he could not join was the cruelest thing.

But no...she had given him the power to act. To choose. And there was no choice in which he did not suffer.

* * *

Cersei was always fond of posing difficult questions to Jaime, even when they were children. She liked to vex him, he believed. Liked to watch his mind turn between two impossible choices. And then she would always laugh and call him foolish.

Once when they were twelve and Tyrion was four, she was watching disdainfully as Jaime sat on the floor with their little brother, helping him play with soldiers. Jaime had been spending and awful lot of time with Tyrion lately, because no one else ever did. It seemed to irritate Cersei a great deal. She most often posed troublesome questions when she was irritated.

" _If Tyrion and I were both about to fall from the cliffs of Casterly Rock, and you could only save one of us...who would you choose?"_

" _That's a stupid question,"_ Jaime had replied. _"What would you both be doing up there and why would you both be falling at the same time?"_

" _It's pretend Jaime. Just imagine it,"_ Cersei said.

" _I would save both of you."_

" _No. That's not the question. You would have to pick."_

Jaime had exhaled and looked up at Cersei. _"I don't want to. And I won't ever have to."_

" _You don't know that,"_ Cersei said. _"Maybe we won't be hanging off a cliff, but one day you might have to pick a side between us."_

" _Are you two going to go to war?"_ Jaime reached out to ruffle Tyrion's hair. _"Cersei, he's four."_

" _For now,"_ Cersei said. _"Answer the question."_

Jaime fell silent then. Because it wasn't a question he _could_ answer. Between his twin sister and his baby brother...he loved them both dearly. How could he ever choose between them.

" _It's fine. You don't have to answer,"_ Cersei said at last. _"Because I already know the truth."_

" _Do you?"_ Jaime asked.

" _Yes."_ Cersei plopped down in her chair. _"We're twins, Jaime. We belong together. At the end of the day...you will always choose me."_

Jaime was reminded of that exact conversation in that moment. He stood in front of the steps of the golden hall, clutching an antidote in his hand. Enough antidote for only one person. And Cersei was asking him to choose.

It was theoretical anymore. It wasn't just a question to vex him. This was real and it killed him to even think of it.

"You can't...be asking this of me," Jaime muttered.

"I am," Cersei said. "And this time you can't simply avoid the choice. The longer you wait, the chance of our survival decreases."

"This is madness," Jaime said.

"It's necessary," Cersei said. "You have been letting father control your life for the last several years. It's your chance to take your life back."

 _Or hand my life to you,_ Jaime thought. Cersei and his father were always fighting for control of him, after all, and Cersei had won that game for many years. He was content to let her control him because he loved her but...

Jaime looked from Cersei to Arya and pain sliced through his chest at the look on her face. She was afraid...because she did not know who he would choose. No, it was worse than that. She was afraid because she was sure of his choice. She was sure he would give the antidote to Cersei and leave her stranded.

Jaime did not blame Arya for doubting him. He had been with Cersei since birth and she was a part of his very being. He could not even imagine the kind of person he would be without her.

But...Arya...the girl who had forced him to pick up a sword with his right hand. The girl who had saved him as much as he had saved her. He had a responsibility to her...he _told her_ that she could trust him.

 _What use is a one handed knight on the King's Guard?_

 _ **I fight with my left hand. Why can't you fight with yours?**_

 _You didn't exactly inherit father's mind, did you?_

 _ **Maybe you're reckless sometimes. But you're not foolish. You've never been foolish.**_

Jaime looked from Arya to Cersei. "You have more than one dose of this antidote. I know you. You would keep one as a backup."

"I have no need to do that," Cersei said. "Because I know you'll choose me, Jaime. You'll always choose me."

Her voice was oddly gentle, like she meant to lull him into a trance. But she didn't. Instead, Jaime felt a spark of fury in him and his grip tightened on the antidote. "I don't believe you."

Then he strode toward Arya.

He did not look to see Cersei's expression. He focused on getting to Arya as quickly as possible, pressing the antidote into her hand. She gripped his arm with surprising strength as she accepted the bottle and quickly drained its contents. It felt good to see her panic and doubt melt into gratitude as she looked up at him.

But then he turned to look at Cersei who was staring at him with a look of absolute horror. He had not seen such an expression on her face since Joffrey died. Horror and fury and betrayal all in one.

"You...that was..."

"You don't get to force me to make impossible choice," Jaime said. "I'm not playing that game anymore."

"Game?" Cersei choked out a laugh. "This...wasn't a game." She took a step forward. "You gave her the only antidote. All of it."

Jaime's brow furrowed. She was...bluffing, he was sure. Cersei wouldn't truly risk her own life and not plan to have another antidote. That would be madness.

 _Unless she was sure of your choice,_ a little voice said in the back of Jaime's head.

"You've killed me," Cersei muttered. "It was you...all along. The valonqar."

"I didn't...I didn't give you that poison," Jaime said, feeling the blood drain from his face. Gods above, she hadn't been bluffing. "I didn't...What's the valonqar."

"You _killed_ me," Cersei snapped, lunging at him. She had no weapon, though she did have two hands. Jaime only barely moved to defend himself in his shock as she grappled with him. But her struggles soon faltered as her knees gave. Jaime caught her instinctively, lowering her slowly to the ground.

In the end, it seemed that Cersei, who had never believed in much of anything, did truly believe Jaime would always choose her. She had staked her life on it.

He was right...By the end of this night, he would lose someone he loved.

* * *

Arya was dizzy watching the display. First, the shock of Cersei's game had rocked her to her core. And then the fear...the uncertainty of who Jaime would choose. Against all odds, he had walked to _her_. He had chosen her. But Cersei...Cersei had not anticipated that. It was the one thing she had not anticipated.

Arya watched the scene in mute horror, and she considered dropping to the ground as well. She was so...drained from this night. But then Oberyn grabbed her arm.

"Euron Greyjoy," Oberyn muttered. "He's gone."

Arya's eyes widened as she looked around. He was right. Euron was gone. And his remaining few soldiers had run with him. She was so busy watching Jaime and Cersei that she hadn't even noticed them slip away. "Tommen and Myrcella."

Oberyn looked to her. "You don't think..."

"I don't know," Arya said. "But we can't leave it to chance." She looked back to Jaime who had lifted his head to look up at her.

"Go," he muttered.

Arya nodded and sprinted from the hall, Oberyn following close behind her.

"I know where they are," Arya said. "I saw their room. The Mountain is guarding them."

"The Mountain," Oberyn's voice was a half growl. "Cersei did intend to give him to me when all of this was over."

"You can have him, gladly," Arya said. "But we take care of the Greyjoys first. If they get past the mountain-"

They skidded around the corner and Oberyn grabbed Arya's shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. It took her only moments to see why. A giant figure stood in the hallway, brandishing a huge great sword. Gregor Clegane. The Mountain that Rides. And he was nowhere near Tommen and Myrcella's door.

"This...isn't where you're supposed to be, Ser Clegane," Arya said flatly.

"Was told to help Lady Cersei," the Mountain said. "To kill her enemies. To kill you."

Of course. Arya could imagine Euron right now, running to the Mountain. Pleading for him to help Cersei. She was being attacked and overwhelmed by intruders, and naturally, it was the Mountain's job to defend her. He was not particularly bright. Not to mention, he was likely bored guarding that door, and the temptation of having someone to kill was too much to resist.

Arya glanced at Oberyn. "All right. You can have him right now if you'd like."

"Gladly," Oberyn said, turning his spear in hand, a fire burning in his eyes. "Get to the King and Princess."

Arya nodded and made a run down the hallway. As she moved, she saw the Mountain raise his sword, but she dropped and slid under the blow, drawing her poison knife in the same breath. She brought the blade across the back of his knee when she came up behind him, and she felt it break the flesh.

Her victory was short lived and she had to throw herself backward down the hall as he tried to slam his foot down on top of her. She rolled across the stone floor, coming up in a crouch as the Mountain advanced on her. But Oberyn's spear thrust forward, slicing his cheek and drawing his attention back.

"Do you know who I am?" Oberyn asked.

"Some dead man," the Mountain growled like a mad dog.

"My name is Oberyn Martell. Brother of Elia Martell...a woman you destroyed." His voice was deathly calm. "You raped her. Murdered her. Killed her children. And I will see you pay for that." He glanced just past the Mountain. "Go, Arya."

Arya slowly got to her feet, backing away from the fight. "Wear him down," she muttered, holding up her knife. "He'll slow eventually. I took your advice."

Oberyn smirked. "Thank you for that." He spun his spear in hand as the Mountain advanced. "Now quickly. Run."

Arya nodded and turned, sprinting off down the hallway. She did not slow until she reached the now open door of Tommen and Myrcella's room. It was guarded-but by two Greyjoy men and neither of them Euron. Arya threw her knife at one, burying the blade in his skull, before cutting the throat of another. She retrieved her knife and returned it to her belt as she ran through the door.

Arya stepped inside the room and felt her boot splash in blood. She looked down and saw a flash of blonde curls lying just beneath her. They were splayed out around Myrcella's head like a wreath as she lay on the ground, gasping, trying to take in air past her sliced throat. Arya felt her stomach roll and pitch and she looked immediately for Tommen.

He was still standing, but pinned up against the wall by Euron Greyjoy, struggling feebly against the stronger man's grip. And Euron was looking right at her.

"Hello there. You came just in the nick of time, didn't you?" His smile was wide and horrible. "Just in time to save the king."

Arya turned her sword in her hand. "Release him. Now."

"Or what?" Euron asked. "You'll kill me, I suppose. You're very good with that sword. But I'm rather good as well. My skills against yours? I think I have a chance."

Arya took a step forward and Euron pressed his knife to Tommen's throat. "Ah ah...no...stop right there. We don't want this to get messy."

"Arya," Tommen choked out. His eyes welled up with tears of fear and grief. "Please. Myrcella..."

"She's already dead, little king," Euron hissed. "Already gone."

Tommen's gaze flicked from his sister back to Arya. The desperation in his gaze rocked her to her core. "Please."

"He has faith in you, doesn't he? He has faith you'll be able to save him," Euron said. "You have before...haven't you? Cersei told me once. Said it was the one decent thing you ever did. You took an assassin's blade to the shoulder and stopped the little prince from dying. Such a heroic deed. I imagine you were hoping to save him again."

"I'll make a trade with you," Arya said. "Whatever Cersei offered...I can give to you. Did she offer the iron islands? We'll make an arrangement."

 _Or I'll pretend to make one at least,_ she thought. _And the moment you release Tommen I'll rip you apart._

"Who really wants those shit rocks anyway," Euron said. "I've seen much better on my travels. They're really not worth all that much. No...I just thought I would gain some favor with the true queen-by killing the last of the usurper's line."

"The true..." Arya swallowed hard. "You mean the dragon queen."

"Yes. She is coming, make no mistake. And if I helped to make the journey easier for her...I imagine she would thank me for my services," Euron shrugged. "Now I _could_ side with you but...well I like the winning side. And she has dragons." He tapped Tommen's cheek with the tip of his knife. "Does this boy have dragons?"

Tommen squirmed in Euron's grip, looking to Arya again. "Please."

Arya needed a knife. Something to throw. But as soon as she reached for it...gods she didn't have the time or the leverage.

"Lord Tywin is already approaching the castle," Arya said. "You'll never make it out alive. Let the king go and I will make sure that you do."

"And how will you do that?" Euron asked. For a moment his blade seemed to move just a breath from Tommen's skin.

"There's a secret passage. A way out. I can take you there and you can escape by sea. Lord Tywin doesn't know about it," Arya said. "Better you live to meet your dragon queen, right? Just let Tommen go."

Euron seemed to consider it. She watched his blade lower just a little bit more and her hands twitched a bit on her sword. He just needed to let go of Tommen. That was the only opening she needed.

Tommen seemed to breathe again as the blade passed away from him. Arya looked to the king, into his wide, panicked eyes. "It's going to be okay," she murmured. "You're going to be okay."

Euron laughed once. "No, he's not."

Then, before she could move, he jabbed his dagger between Tommen's ribs.

Arya felt a howl of fury leave her mouth and she lunged at Euron before Tommen even hit the ground. He danced out of the way of her sword, drawing a blade of his own and blocking her second strike.

"Good," Euron purred. "Let's see how the little wolf dances with a kraken."

 _Little wolf._

Those words send a spike of fear and rage rolling through Arya with a force she had not known for a long time. She barred her teeth in a snarl, and shoved her blade forward, throwing him slightly off balance. But he quickly regained his feet and met her strike for strike as she stalked forward.

Euron was good. He was better than Ramsay who was all wildness and chaos. Euron seemed similar at first glance, but he had more control over his movements. More training. More practice. And he was quite a bit bigger than Arya so she could not match him for strength.

But it didn't matter. Arya pushed against every physical limit she had because she _had_ to murder this man. From the moment she saw Tommen's eyes go wide with pain...

 _I'll kill him. Euron Greyjoy. Euron Greyjoy. I'm going to kill him._

He was laughing as she fought him. Laughing just like Ramsay. And it chilled her blood to hear it. With every time he cackled, she felt herself losing control and calm as she lashed out at him wildly. It was a mistake. Syrio would tell her to be calm as water. Fluid. Cool and collected. But she couldn't be. She couldn't...

Euron knocked her sword from her hand with a quick flick of his wrist and kicked her hard in the stomach, knocking her back to the ground. Moments later, he was on top of her, pinning her left hand to the ground with his own and pressing the sharp edge of his blade to her throat.

"That was a good fight...you're strong for someone of your size," Euron purred. "And as wild as any wolf I've ever seen. Wild doesn't always win a fight."

Arya squirmed beneath him but the edge of his blade bit slightly into the skin of her neck.

"Ah, ah," he said. "I can't have you die before you tell me a way out of this place, can I? And if history has taught us anything...you make a better hostage than a corpse."

Arya's head swam with panic. She needed her knife, but she couldn't get to it without him seeing. Worse, he was pinning down her left hand and she had only her mangled right hand free.

 _I will not be a hostage again,_ she thought. _I cannot be. Gods, I would rather die._

Then something thumped against Euron's head. A shoe. One single shoe that Tommen, with what little strength he could muster, had thrown across the room. It did not hurt Euron, but the man did turn to look at Tommen for a fraction of a second and his sword raised slightly from Arya's throat.

It was a moment of distraction. A quick moment that gave Arya a window of opportunity. And without hesitation, she drew a knife with the trembling fingers of her right hand and jabbed it into Euron Greyjoy's temple.

His eyes rolled back in his head and at once he stilled. Arya knocked away the blade of his sword before it could fall on her neck and rolled out from under him, drawing in a shuddering breath. Dead. He was dead.

She stared at him for a moment longer to make sure before she crawled over to Tommen who still lay rested against the wall, his eyes fluttering. Blood had already begun to seep through his clothes staining his fingers.

"No. No, no, no, no, no," Arya muttered over and over again like something of a prayer. Had Euron hit his heart? No...Tommen would already be dead if that was the case. "Tommen just...just keep pressing on the wound, all right? We'll get you help." She squeezed his shoulder "You're going to be okay."

Tommen coughed weakly and red sprayed from his mouth, speckling Arya's hand. "I-I can't...breathe."

"I know," Arya said. "I know, but it's going to be all right." She leaned over him, brushing back his hair. "You have to stay awake, Tommen, do you hear me? I...I promised Margaery that I would bring you home safely."

"Margaery?" Tommen's eyes fluttered. "Is she here?"

"No, but you'll see her soon," Arya felt tears blur her eyes. Already, she could feel him slipping away from her. "You have to because...Tommen, she's pregnant. You're going to be a father. You have to live for that. Please." Her tears overflowed and began to stream down her cheeks. "Tommen please. I-I'm sorry I wasn't quicker. Please don't die."

Tommen reached up a trembling hand and grasped tightly onto Arya's with what seemed like all of his remaining strength. "It's...not your fault," he mumbled. "Not your..."

His grip weakened. And suddenly his eyes were no longer focused on her's. Arya swallowed hard, shaking him a bit. "Tommen? Tommen, I said stay awake. I told you..." Her voice cracked. "Gods, please...you can't be..."

But he wasn't breathing anymore. He wasn't moving. He lay still on the ground, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his blood staining the floor beneath him. Arya slowly sat back on her feet, feeling a cold numbness take over her. No...this wasn't happening. This was not real. Tommen could not be...

Footsteps reached Arya's ears and she looked up to see Oberyn appearing in the doorway. He was covered in blood as well, though thank fully not his own. "Seven hells," he muttered, dropping down beside Myrcella's body to check for any breath. But she had stopped breathing long ago.

"I was too late," Arya mumbled.

Oberyn brushed a hand over Myrcella's face, closing her eyes. "We all were. You, me, Cersei...Lord Tywin and his armies as well." He stood slowly. "Apparently the gates have already opened for them."

Arya let out a single bitter laugh, looking up at the ceiling. "So...they held the towers. That's good."

Not that it mattered anymore. One hundred thousand soldiers could march into Casterly Rock with the Lord of the Rock at their head.

But not one of them could bring back the king.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Haha, I cried writing this chapter. It was full of pain. And, as I warned, SPOILERS BELOW, TURN BACK NOW:**_

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 _ **Holy shit! I was waiting...I was waiting to plan the very ending of this fic until I saw how they dealt with the whitewalkers. Because I was like, lol I can't have Arya kill the Night King because I can't make Arya do EVERYTHING so I'll go with whoever kills the Night King in canon and WHAT DO YOU FUCKING KNOW, my girl came in CLUTCH. Like DAMN GIRL. FUCK. Anyway, can't wait to write the battle against the dead in this fic lol.**_

 _ **As always, review, subscribe and I'll SEE YOU NEXT TIME!**_


	80. Chapter 80: Grief

_**A/N: I'm late but this chapter is long as FUCK! If anyone is looking for a pick-me-up, this chapter sure ain't gonna be it, because it is very sad...but on the other hand, it IS over 5,000 words long so you guys can enjoy 5,000 words of suffering I guess? It's angst time is what I'm saying so...enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 80: Grief**

Arya did not move from Tommen's side. She sat there on the floor beside him, her legs tucked into her chest. She could not bring herself to rise. If she left this room, where would she go? She did not want to tell Jaime or Tywin about the king and the princess. She could not bring herself to even speak such words out loud.

So she sat beside Tommen. She wallowed in her own failure. And she waited.

It was so deathly quiet in that room. This high up and far away from the courtyard, she could not hear the soldiers entering the castle, or anything at all. Arya could have been utterly alone if she closed her eyes and forgot about the bodies around her. But even when she did close her eyes, the image was burned into her mind. The image of Tommen choking out his last breaths through fear and pain.

" _It's not...your fault."_

Something shuffled in the doorway, disturbing the quiet, and Arya was on her feet in a second, brandishing her knife in front of her in a trembling hand.

She recognized Lord Tywin's tall silhouette at once, though she could only barely make out his expression in the shadows-hard and vacant as that of a stone statue. He did not look surprised by Tommen or Myrcella's bodies. She imagined someone else had already given him the news. Oberyn perhaps. He had left her there some time ago. Did that meant Jaime knew too? And what about Cersei? Did she know what her little game had done? That she had killed her own children?

Tywin was flanked by four Lannister guard, one of whom she recognized as Merwyn. He had survived holding the towers it seemed. But it was hard to feel happy or even a bit relieved at that fact. It was one victory in a sea of defeats. Every one of the guards let the horror show plainly on their faces as they looked around the room. This was a massacre none of them had expected.

For a long time, no one moved or spoke. Arya felt the silence in her very bones. What was there to say? What could she _possibly_ say? Seven hells, she could barely even move. She was stuck, frozen in a defensive position, clutching her knife in a death grip, as if there was still a king left to defend.

At last, Tywin spoke in a heavy voice. "Take them to the silent sisters. Make sure no one sees you. We don't want word of this to spread. Not yet."

The guards nodded and moved forward. Arya watched numbly as two of them wrapped Myrcella in the red curtains from the beds so that no one could see her face or her open throat. Merwyn and the other guard approached Tommen, meaning to do the same, but Arya was still standing in their way.

"My lady?" Merwyn murmured.

Arya swallowed hard and forced herself to step aside. He gave her a small nod and set about wrapping Tommen in the red curtains. Then the guards carried the king and the princess away, leaving Arya and Tywin alone.

Another long silence engulfed the room, and Arya could not bring herself to look at the man. Instead she focused on the knife in her hand. Euron's blood had already dried on the metal. She wondered absently how long she had been waiting in that room.

"You can put away your knife," Tywin said at last. "He's already dead. There's no one left to kill."

"There's always someone left to kill," Arya muttered. "Always. Every time I kill one enemy, another takes their place."

"Maybe. But for now, there's no one." She was aware of his footsteps as he crossed to her and he grasped her left hand in his. "Let it go. Your hand is bleeding."

Arya relaxed her grip a fraction, just enough to allow Tywin to pry the blade from her fingers and set it aside on the nearby dresser. She studied her raw palm, wondering exactly when she had cut herself.

"You shouldn't have left," Tywin said flatly. "Both you and Jaime should have stayed put like I told you."

"If we had, you and your army would still be outside," Arya murmured. "Now we've avoided a siege."

"Avoided a siege and lost the king."

Arya flinched. "Cersei...made sure we would lose him...from the moment she allied with Euron. He always planned to kill Tommen and use it to gain favor with the dragon queen. He would have done that with or without a siege."

Tywin let out a frustrated breath but did not argue the point. Perhaps he knew that Arya was right. Or perhaps he just did not have the energy.

"Are you hurt?" he asked after a pause.

Arya shook her head. "Scrapes and bruises. Nothing serious." She pulled at the three fingers of her right hand. "Is Cersei still alive?"

"Apparently, yes," Tywin said. "Locked in her room. The maester says she may last the day but not the night."

So he hadn't gone to see her yet. That didn't surprise Arya. She wondered if he intended to ignore her completely. To let her die alone. Perhaps he could not even bear to look at her.

"And Jaime?" Arya asked.

"Physically, he's unhurt."

"That wasn't what I was asking," Arya said. "Does he know about...?"

 _About Tommen. About Myrcella._

She could not say their names. Just the thought of them made her feel sick to her stomach.

"He knows," Tywin said, his voice as grim as it possibly could be.

Arya nodded once. She would have to find him once she regained control of herself. She could not imagine what Jaime was suffering right now. Not just his sister but his two remaining children... and somehow Arya felt responsible for it all. Because she fell into Cersei's trap...because she was too late to stop Euron...

"In any case, we should leave this place," Tywin said. "There are still rogue Greyjoy soldiers running through the halls. It's not safe to stay here alone."

When she didn't move immediately, he grasped her shoulder and started to steer her toward the door. Without thinking, Arya spoke again, though she did not know where the words came from. "That first time I saved Tommen...was an accident you know." Tywin paused though he did not reply, and Arya took it as leave to keep talking. "I saw a shadow and I happened to move in the path of the knife. I wish I could say that it was intentional but...at the time I didn't even know the knife was meant for Tommen." She swallowed hard. "But he...he treated me like I was some hero and he looked at me like I was something extraordinary. I'd never had anyone look at me like that. And after the incident, he asked me to accompany him to the gardens often. Like he trusted me to protect him. I was glad for it. I was glad that someone...had so much faith in me."

Arya felt tears burn at her eyes and her voice began to crack. But she could not stop talking. "And even tonight. Even tonight, he had that same faith. When I stumbled into the room, he was relieved because he knew...he just _knew_ that I would save him." Her hands clenched into fists. "And I couldn't. I was too late and I couldn't save him. And I had to watch him..."

 _Die. I had to watch him die._ She couldn't say the word. She couldn't force it past her tight throat.

Tywin didn't say anything for a moment, and when he did speak, his voice was softer than usual. "You're not to blame for his death. Or any of the events leading up to it."

Arya looked up at him-really looking at him for the first time since he had entered the room. She had never seen an expression like that on his face. It was sadness, perhaps but more than that it was...regret. She had never seen such regret in his eyes before. "But Cersei's game-"

"-was never about you," Tywin said. "It was never really about you."

Arya's vision blurred as all the emotions she had been fighting began to overflow. Then, without thinking, she let her forehead fall against his chest. There was a long moment where Tywin stiffened and did not move at all. But then he slowly wrapped one arm around her shoulders and let her cry.

It was a moment of weakness, and one that they would never talk about again. Some days, Arya wasn't even sure it had actually happened. But in that moment of utter grief and exhaustion it was what they both seemed to need.

* * *

Jaime sat beside Cersei's bedside, alternating between starting at his hands and at her. She hadn't spoken in some time. Not since he told her about Myrcella and Tommen. She just started at the ceiling, as if she was still trying to wrap her mind around the words. There were no tears from her. Just grim acceptance, as if she had expected this to happen for a long time.

When he first chose Arya, she had fought him with everything she had. She had screamed at him, cursed him, tried to claw out his eyes. He very nearly let her because he was so overwhelmed by the reality of the situation. But when her energy had run out, he had finally escorted her back to her room and ordered guards posted there. There was no sense in throwing her in a cell. She would be dead soon anyway.

 _Dead. Cersei will be dead._

 _It wasn't supposed to happen this way._

"I wonder..." Cersei murmured at last, breaking the silence. "If you had known that I was telling the truth about the poison...would you have saved me?"

Jaime did not have an answer for that. He didn't even want to contemplate that question. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

"I think it does," Cersei said. "I gave you a chance to escape your marriage."

"Escape to what?" Jaime asked. "Even now, I still don't understand your plan. Were you planning to hold Casterly Rock forever? You know it wouldn't have worked."

"Maybe not. Maybe I didn't want the Rock," Cersei murmured. "Maybe I just wanted to watch Father's legacy burn."

"Well it did," Jaime said. "Tommen and Myrcella are dead. Congratulations."

"I thought they would be safe."

"Did you?" Jaime asked. "Did you really?"

Cersei let out a long, exhausted breath. "No...From the moment you crossed to that girl, I knew they would die. The prophesy said...that they would die before me."

"Prophesy? What prophesy?" Jaime asked.

"Gold will be their crowns and gold their shrouds," Cersei said. "That's what the witch told me. 'And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar will wrap his hands around your throat and choke the life out of you'." She smiled bitterly. "I always thought it would be Tyrion who killed me. My little brother. But it was you all along."

"Seven hells, Cersei. How long have you been obsessed with this damn prophesy?" Jaime asked.

"It was true, wasn't it?" Cersei asked.

"It didn't have to be," Jaime said. "You made it true by doing...by doing _all_ of this. Tommen and Myrcella wouldn't have died if you had just..."

"If I had just what? Been happy for you and your new bride? Accepted Arya _Stark_ as the new Lady of the Rock?" She glanced at Jaime. "Well, she seems to care about you at least, since she came to your rescue. It's funny...You'd think she'd hate you. Considering what you did to her brother."

Jaime fell silent and looked away.

"Oh...you haven't told her, have you? You must really care about what she thinks of you," Cersei laughed once. "Did you intend to keep the secret forever?"

"I did what I did to protect you and our children," Jaime said.

"And now you've killed me and our children," Cersei said. "So I guess it didn't matter."

Jaime's jaw clenched and he stood, moving for the door. "You killed them. I played no part in it."

"You don't believe that," Cersei said. "I can see it in your eyes...you blame yourself. And you should. _The things you did for love_ ," she said the words in a mocking tone. "None of them mattered in the end, did they?"

Jaime didn't respond. Instead he left the room, slamming the door behind him. He couldn't stay there one more moment. He couldn't listen to her poisonous words, and more than that, he could not watch her die.

Because she was right. None of it had mattered in the end, and Jaime could not help but blame himself.

* * *

When Jaime returned to his quarters, he found someone else waiting for him. Arya was perched on the edge of the bed, looking much smaller than usual, fidgeting with the fingers on her right hand. When she looked up at him, he could see the grief and regret plain on her face. But she was alive and she was mostly unharmed. That was a blessing at least.

He swallowed hard, crossing to her at once and placing a kiss on her forehead. When she ran after Euron, he wasn't sure. But she felt solid as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Were you with Cersei?" Arya asked when he pulled back.

Jaime nodded once.

"Is she still alive?"

"For now...yes," Jaime murmured.

"I'm sorry," Arya said. "About her, and about..." She paused as if she had to force herself to save the names. "Tommen and Myrcella."

Jaime looked away, forcing down a wave of emotion. Losing Cersei had been bad enough, but when Oberyn had told him about the children-gods it felt like something in his chest had shattered. He had not felt this way since he lost his hand-helpless and foolish and worthless in every way.

"It wasn't your fault," Jaime murmured. "It was mine. If I hadn't gone to reason with Cersei, she wouldn't have found you. And it was only in the chaos of her game that Euron managed to slip away to-"

"Don't," Arya said. "What Euron did isn't your fault either. Blame him for it. Blame Cersei too. But not yourself."

Jaime smiled bitterly. "They were my family...I'm supposed to be able to protect my family. Now nearly all of my family is gone. Mother, Joffrey, Tyrion, Myrcella, Tommen, Cersei. One after the other. Am I going to lose my father next?"

"There was nothing you could do about any of them," Arya said. "It was out of your control."

"It shouldn't have been," Jaime said.

"But it was," Arya said. "You don't need to blame yourself for it."

Jaime wished it was that simple, but every time he thought of any of them-of Cersei of Tommen of Myrcella, he felt self-hatred clawing at his chest, threatening to rip him apart. He paced away from Arya, trying to regain control of himself.

"You could have saved Cersei," Arya called after him. "But you didn't. Don't misunderstand me...I'm grateful for it. I just don't understand why."

Jaime looked back at her. "I... thought for sure that Cersei was bluffing. That she would never actually risk her life for such a thing."

Arya looked down at her hands. "And if you had known that she wasn't bluffing...would you have chosen differently?"

The question struck Jaime hard. Cersei had asked the same thing, after all. If he had known for sure that Cersei would die, would he have abandoned Arya and crossed to his sister instead? He was a vile person who had done vile things to protect his first love. Even shoving Arya's own brother out a window-a boy of ten. Would he have left Arya to die?

"No," Jaime murmured at last, and shockingly, it felt like the truth. "I would have chosen you. Thinking she was bluffing just made the choice easier."

Arya seemed to shudder when he said that-like it wasn't the answer she had expected. Then, slowly, she slipped off of the bed and padded over to him. Her hand slipped into his, squeezing tightly.

"Thank you, Jaime," she murmured.

He didn't feel deserving of her thanks, and yet he needed it in that moment. He felt his own hand trembling in her as emotions welled up inside of him. Tears that he had not shed in a very long time blurred his vision.

He did not want her to see them, so instead he pulled her to his chest, hugging her as tightly as he could. And she embraced him in return, burying her face in his shoulder. Somehow, they had both made it through the ordeal alive, though he had nearly lost her.

Up until that moment in the Golden Hall, Jaime had not realized how terrified he was of losing her. She had become a part of him and he hadn't even realized it. He could not imagine life without her now. So he clung to her in that moment, reminding himself that at least she was still alive and here with him, even when everyone else had left him behind.

* * *

Part of Tywin did not want to visit her at all. He did not even want to look upon Cersei's face. After all she had done, he wanted to pretend that she had never existed at all.

And yet, when night fell, somehow, he found himself standing outside of her room. There were two guards posted there, even though a locked door was plenty to stop Cersei. He motioned for them to let him inside and they obeyed at once. Then, steeling himself, he stepped through the door.

The room was dark, lit only by a few candles, but it was the same room of Cersei's childhood, once she grew too old to share a room with Jaime. Cersei was laying so still that for a moment Tywin wondered if she might already be dead. But then she exhaled.

"Hello, father."

Tywin did not reply. He moved silently over to the chair and sat down.

"It's been some time since we've seen each other," Cersei said. "I think the last time I saw you...ah yes, it was when your men were dragging me away toward a ship like I was some common drunk."

"You were quite drunk at the time," Tywin replied.

"But not common," Cersei retorted.

Tywin didn't reply immediately. For one of the rare times in his life, he really had no idea what to say. Accusing her of nearly burning their house to the ground...it seemed pointless. Cersei knew exactly what she had done and now she was on death's door because of it.

"Was all of this worth it for you?" he asked at last. "Was it worth it to rip apart the west and our armies? Was it worth it to lose your children?"

"I'm not sure," Cersei said. "Seeing your face now...it might be. I don't think I've ever seen you quite like this." She smiled. "You always liked to gloat about winning. But you didn't win this time."

"Neither of us did," Tywin said.

"That's fine. In the end, I just wanted you to lose for once," Cersei stared up at the ceiling. "You shouldn't have shipped me away. Not to Casterly Rock. Not to King's Landing, all of those years ago, when you forced me to marry Robert. All you ever wanted to do was ignore me and use me in your games. I was a piece on the board. For once, I wanted to be one of the players."

Of course she had. That was what Cersei wanted from the very beginning. And what a player she had made. Maybe she did not win but she had set the board aflame and made it impossible for Tywin to claim any sort of victory. If that had been her goal, then she had achieved it, though Tywin would not give her the satisfaction of admitting that.

"You never really saw any of us, you know," Cersei said. "You didn't see one of your children. Not Jaime. Not me. Not even Tyrion. You only saw what you wanted us to be. That's why Tyrion and I could never impress you. That's why Jaime constantly disappointed you." She laughed once. "That's why you never saw what was going on between Jaime and me. You must have suspected but you just refused to acknowledge it. But every rumor is true."

 _Every rumor is true._

Tywin had heard the rumors about them and he had defended them against those rumors. He refused to believe there was any truth to it. Even now, hearing it from Cersei's own mouth, he wanted to deny it. But he didn't even have the energy to be shocked anymore. Nothing came as a surprise to him. Not after everything else.

"You'll blame me for this mess," Cersei said. "That's fine. I don't mind getting the credit for my hard work. But before I die, I want you to know that _you_ are the reason. Every moment you ignored me, every time you forced me to play a role I did not want to play, every time you refused to teach me or treated me like I was a fool. Every time you didn't _see_ me. It all led to this."

"I know," Tywin said. And he was just as surprised to hear the words as Cersei was. She blinked a few times, as if wondering if she had imagined them.

"You...know?"

"Yes," Tywin stood from his seat. "I made many mistakes with you. More than I can count. But what you did to our house is unforgiveable. Blame me for making you this way if it eases your passing, but you chose this path."

Cersei laughed once, staring up at the ceiling. "I never thought you'd admit to making mistakes. That really is something."

"You'll be dead before morning. It doesn't matter what I admit to you," Tywin said.

"True," Cersei said. "And you already have a replacement daughter all lined up to take my place. I hope, for her sake, you've adjusted your expectations."

Tywin's expression hardened to stone again and he stood, crossing to the door. "I'll leave you to rest."

"You'll leave me to die, you mean," Cersei said.

"Call it what you'd like. Either way, this is the last time we'll see each other," Tywin said.

Cersei laughed. "Maybe not. If the seven hells exist...I'm sure we'll see each other there."

Tywin sighed, looking down at his daughter one last time before he left the room. "I suppose we will."

* * *

Arya could not sleep. Jaime had drifted off some time ago, though he turned restlessly and often. But she found herself wide awake, still thinking of everything that had happened. And when staying in bed became unbearable, she found herself slipping from beneath the covers and onto the floor. She slipped into her shoes and grabbed her knife from the counter. Then, careful not to wake Jaime, she slipped from the room.

Merwyn and Thomas were posted as guards at the door, just in case any Greyjoy stragglers tried to seek them out, and they were surprised to see her step out of the room.

"My lady, is something wrong?" Merwyn asked.

"Many things," Arya said. "I need to go for a walk."

"We can't let you go alone," Merwyn said.

Arya didn't have the energy to protest. "You can come with me then, Merwyn. Thomas, you stay and guard the door."

"Yes, m'lady," Thomas said. Merwyn hesitated, before he nodded and followed Arya down the hall.

"I'm sorry about Phillip," she said as they walked. "Did you know him well?"

"He was a friend," Merwyn said. "But I doubt his death was your fault."

"I'm sorry none the less," Arya said.

They kept walking. Arya tried to convince herself, at first, that she was just wandering. But she knew that she had a purpose. Soon enough, she found herself outside of the room of the woman who had tried to kill her.

"My lady...why?" Merwyn asked.

"I don't know," Arya said.

It was the truth. Arya did not know why she wanted to see Cersei. Perhaps it was a need for closure. Cersei had tried to kill her after all. It felt wrong not to see her one more time before she died.

"Wait out here for me," she said at last. "I can handle her on my own."

Merwyn nodded and signaled for the guards to unlock the door and step aside. They obeyed and allowed Arya entry.

When she entered the room and closed the door behind her, Cersei was lying on her bed. Her face was pale and Arya wondered how close to death she might be. Her green eyes were red rimmed as she glanced at Arya.

"And now _you're_ here," she murmured. "So many visitors today."

"I'm sure I'll be the last," Arya said.

"Did you come to gloat?" Cersei asked.

"Not really. I don't see the point in that," Arya said. "You planned to break me. Your plans failed. You don't really need me to tell you that."

Cersei exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. "And yet here you are...speaking to me."

"Here I am," Arya said.

"I just can't understand it. I never could. What my father...saw in you. Why he gave you so much that he never gave me," Cersei shook her head. "It doesn't make sense."

"No. It doesn't," Arya said. "I am sorry for that."

Cersei laughed once. "Are you?"

"Yes. Surprisingly," Arya said. "But I'm not sorry that you're dying. After what you did to my father and my family and the north and the west. And me." She shook her head. "Tyrion was banished because of you. My brother's wife died because of you. I have more scars than I can count from my ordeal with Ramsay Bolton. And Tommen and Myrcella..." Arya swallowed hard. "After all of that, this is _more_ than you deserve."

Cersei laughed once. "And you're here to watch me get what I deserve?"

"Not watch," Arya said. "But if you wish, I can make it quicker for you."

"Why not let me suffer?"

"I think you've suffered plenty," Arya said. "Your children are dead and your brother abandoned you. Your plans all crumbled to ash. What can an hour more of lying in bed really add to your suffering?"

Cersei smirked and glanced at her. "I suppose you think you've won...at the end of it all. You've won my father and you've won Jaime."

"I don't think I can win people," Arya said.

"You can," Cersei said. "You can win their affections at least." She smiled. "But...you may not want Jaime."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"He's been hiding something from you," Cersei said. "A little secret that's over six years old. He's been keeping it to himself because he knew you would hate him if he said it."

Arya did not want to ask. This was one of Cersei's games. She was trying to get the upper hand in her last moments. She stood from her chair and started toward the door. "I'm not interested in your lies."

"Six years ago," Cersei repeated. "When we visited Winterfell."

Arya's hand paused as it rested on the door handle.

"Jaime and I were in the broken tower," Cersei said. "Together. Trying to get away from the northerners and from my drunk, useless husband. But in the midst of all of it, this little boy appeared in the window. It was so high up, for a moment, I thought he might be a ghost. But he was a good climber."

Arya's blood chilled and she slowly turned around to face Cersei again.

"He tried to climb away," Cersei said. "But Jaime grabbed him and pulled him back inside. But we both knew that the moment we let him go, he could run to tell the honorable Ned Stark about our crimes. We would have both been killed then. Us and all of our children. So, Jaime did the smart thing, for once. The practical thing." She smiled. "He shoved the boy right out the window and let him fall to his death. Or, at least, what should have been his death. It worked either way. The boy lost his memory, so our secret was safe." She tilted her head to the side. "He lost his legs too of course. But it could have been much worse, don't you think?"

Arya couldn't process Cersei's words for a long moment. She didn't understand what she was trying to say. She had always suspected that Bran's fall wasn't an accident. He was too surefooted for that-an even better climber than her. But when no clear culprit presented themselves, Arya let herself assume that she was wrong. That, just that one time, Bran had slipped.

But Cersei...Cersei said that Bran had seen her with Jaime. And that Jaime, in order to protect the secret...

He had...

The thought was poison to Arya, awakening fury and grief in equal parts. But that was exactly what Cersei wanted. She wanted to see Arya suffer in her last moments. She was trying to win.

So Arya hardened her expression. She locked all of her emotion inside as she leaned toward Cersei. "Well...I suppose that makes us even then," she said flatly.

Now it was Cersei's turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Jaime didn't tell me about trying to kill my brother," Arya smiled. "And I didn't tell him about killing his eldest son."

Cersei's eyes widened and Arya savored that look of shock on her face. She hadn't told _anyone_ about Joffrey except for Tywin, and it was a secret that often burned within her throat. But there was no harm at all in telling a dying woman. She wouldn't be able to tell anyone else.

"A faceless man gave me three names," Arya continued. "Three names in return for saving his life and the lives of two others. I kept the last name for a very long time, waiting for the exact right person. And Joffrey...he was perfect." She let out a single bitter laugh. "Do you remember watching him die? I do. It felt good. After what he did to my father and what he meant to do to my brother."

"You wretched girl," Cersei hissed. She tried to lunge, but Arya backed out away and she spilled onto the floor instead. She was too weak now to truly attack. The poison was beginning to run its course.

"You blamed Tyrion for it of course," Arya said. "You never suspected me for a moment. I'm not sure why. You knew how much I hated him. Maybe you just underestimated me."

Cersei looked up at her, hate filling her eyes, and Arya stared right back, unflinching. She had not meant to give Cersei such a terrible secret before she died. But now, it was sweet to do so.

"But the most interesting part of all of this," Arya said. "Is that your father knew. Right from the beginning...before you even accused Tyrion. He knew that I was the one who did it. And he didn't care. Because he despised your son as much as everyone else."

It was those last words that seemed to break Cersei. Arya saw her hate fail her and turn to grief. Arya almost pitied the woman. It was truly horrible knowledge to die with. And she would be dead soon. Blood was beginning to trail from her nose.

"I think we're done here." Arya gave her one last cold smile. "Goodbye, Cersei." Then she turned and strode from the room, leaving the once queen of the seven kingdoms to die.

* * *

 ** _A/N: In case anyone was wondering, yes, Rains of Castamere WAS playing over the scene when Arya walked away from Cersei, because she really did get the last mic drop on that. UNFORTUNATELY, Arya now found out the truth about Bran and...well you all knew I was going to wait until the worst possible time to drop that bomb. WELCOME TO THE WORSE POSSIBLE TIME!_**

 ** _Also for those of you concerned about me going with the show ending of the battle of winterfell, I promise that I will improve upon certain aspects that bothered me, since I thought the Battle of Winterfell was...strategically...a mess. So I'll like, work with it. I've got some ideas. The show has just given me something to build off of now._**

 ** _As always, review, subscribe and I'll see you later!_**


	81. Chapter 81: Broken Trust

_**A/N: Whew. Alright. This is late again. But mostly because last night's episode absolutely wrecked my shit. Like...a lot of highs and lows emotionally. Could not keep up with that rollercoaster. Oof. And speaking of like...emotional rollercoasters, welcome to this chapter. I swear I didn't intend to pile feels on top of feels but here we are. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 81: Broken Trust**

Jaime startled from sleep to find himself alone. Arya was not beside him. She had slipped away at some point in the night and he had not noticed. His first thought was panic. Arya shouldn't be wandering through Casterly Rock alone. Not when there could still be Greyjoy men roaming the castle.

The panic was short lived, however. When he looked around, he found her sitting across from the bed, perched on the desk chair. She had one leg tucked up against her chest, her chin rested on her knee as she stared off into space.

Jaime rubbed a hand over his face. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No," Arya murmured, not looking up at him. "I went for a walk."

"That could have been dangerous," Jaime said.

"I took Merwyn with me," she replied. "And as you can see, I'm fine."

Her voice was strange. Completely hollow and emotionless. Jaime had never quite heard her sound like that before, and something about it set him on edge.

"Are you all right?" he asked, slowly getting to his feet.

"No. I don't think I am," she said. "On my walk, I went to see Cersei."

Jaime felt a chill go through him. "Arya...why would you do that?"

"Why shouldn't I? She was dying, she had no weapon, there were guards. She wasn't any danger to me," she looked up at him. "Unless you think there was some danger."

Her gaze bore right through him-icy as a winter chill but calm...way too calm. And Jaime knew without her even needing to say it.

 _Cersei told her,_ he thought. _She knows._

He couldn't even come up with a lie. For a moment, his mouth moved up and down as he grasped for something. But no words came. Arya knew what he had done to her brother all of those years ago. What could he possibly say?

"It's been six years now...hasn't it? Since we first met in Winterfell," Arya continued. "I suppose we didn't really meet. We never spoke. I don't think you even knew I existed. But you did speak to my brother. And according to Cersei, after you spoke to him, you shoved him off the top of a tower. Is that true?"

"Arya-"

"It's a yes or no question," Arya said.

Jaime closed his eyes. Gods above, why did Arya have to go to Cersei? Why now of all times? "Yes," he said at last. "It's true."

Arya was silent for a long time and when he opened his eyes again, he saw that her stony mask had cracked a bit. So many little emotions passed through her eyes, but chief among them was that of disbelief and distrust. It hurt to see her look at him like that.

"I had hoped Cersei was lying," she murmured. "I had hoped that...that it was just one last attack. One last attempt to make me suffer." Her eyes were glassy as she looked up at him. "Why?"

"He saw us together," Jaime said. "I didn't have a choice. I had to-"

"You had to? You _had_ to push a child out the window?" Arya stood from her seat. "He was ten. You could have lied to him. You could have convinced him it was nothing. Do you think Bran knew what you were doing? Do you think he actually understood it?"

"I wasn't going to take that risk," Jaime said. "If your brother told your father...the King would have executed us all. Not just Cersei and me but the children too. Robert Baratheon was relieved when he saw a dead Targaryen baby laid at his feet. Do you think he would have let any of Cersei's bastard children live?"

"So my brother deserved to die for it?" Arya asked. "You were the one who decided to fuck your sister in the middle of Winterfell, in the open, where anyone could have seen. My brother didn't deserve to pay for your mistake."

"It's not about what he deserved," Jaime snapped. "Of course he didn't deserve it. But I had to protect my family." He jerked a hand through his hair, feeling his frustration rise. There was nothing he hated more than hearing such an accusing tone in Arya's voice. He knew he deserved it, but none the less, it was deeply painful. "If it were your family on the line and the only way to save them was to kill one innocent child you barely knew...you can't tell me you wouldn't do the same."

His words seemed to throw Arya for a moment, but not for long. Her fury was building and it showed no signs of stopping any time soon. "It's... not about what _I_ would do. This is about what you did." She took a step forward. "My brother wanted to be a knight. He knew all of the great knights, even the ones from before the Targaryens. Maybe you didn't succeed in killing him but you took away his future. You took away _everything_ he wanted for himself."

The back of Jaime' neck heated with shame. He remembered thinking that death might have been a kinder fate than losing one's legs. Jaime knew what it felt like to lose. Without his right hand, he had wished he was dead. But at least he had another hand. The boy...without legs he could never hope to fight.

"I'm not...that person anymore," Jaime said. It seemed such a poor excuse to him, but it was all he could say to defend himself.

"Really?" Arya asked. "Then why didn't you tell me the truth, Jaime? I should _not_ have had to hear it from Cersei."

"You shouldn't have gone to see Cersei in the first place."

"Why? So that you could sit on your secret forever and pretend it didn't happen?"

"That's not what I meant," Jaime said, though yes, part of him had been hoping for that. "I'm sorry for what I did. Truly. In the end, it didn't make a difference. Everyone I was trying to protect all of those years ago...they're dead now. Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen. Every one of them is dead."

"All except you," Arya said.

Jaime stared at her for a long time and she stared right back, unblinking. Then he let out a frustrated breath and paced back to the bed, scooping one of Arya's knives from the dresser. "Would you like to remedy that?" He crossed to her and her eyes widened as he pressed the knife into her hand. "Go on. I tried to kill your little brother. You'd be in your right to do it." He jerked her hand upward so that the tip of the blade hovered inches from the vulnerable skin of his throat. "Do it. Take your revenge."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Jaime's breathing was heavy and harsh and Arya...she seemed not to breathe at all. Her hand trembled in his and her eyes were glassy as she stared at the knife. Her anger had not left her, but it had cracked and revealed the pain beneath.

Then, at last, she let out a shuddering breath and opened her hand, letting the knife clatter to the ground between them. She stepped back jerking her hand away from him. "No," she muttered. "I'd rather you...live with it."

Jaime thought he saw tears begin to fall as she turned away and hurried for the door. He took a step after her, but she was gone before he could take another.

Slowly, Jaime sank into the nearest chair, holding his head in his hands. Arya had looked at him so many times and in so many different ways over the past several years. With anger, annoyance, fear, sadness, joy, shock, desperation. But never had she looked at him quite like that. It wasn't just the hurt and the shock at his betrayal. It was...judgement. The same way her father had looked at him after he killed the Mad King. But worse...so much worse. Because it was _Arya_.

Jaime had lost so much that day. His sister, his children...Now Arya. And he felt he had only himself to blame.

* * *

At first, Merwyn tried to follow Arya from the room, but she sprinted ahead of him so that he could not. She did not want to talk to him or anyone else. She couldn't bear it.

She did not pay attention to where she was going. She ran and ran until she found an open door and slid inside, closing it behind her. She listened at the crack as footsteps rushed by and faded to silence. Then she stepped away, letting out a shuddering breath, and turned to look around the room.

It was a long space, with a stone fire place and plush red carpets. Several book shelves lined the walls, and in one corner sat a pianoforte made of white wood. It was a beautifully carved piece and it seemed to glow in the moonlight filtering through the window. When Arya peered through the glass, she could see the waves crashing against the cliffs far below.

Absently, she let her fingers dance over the keys of the pianoforte. She had no idea if it was in tune or not. She had never been very good at music-that was Sansa's specialty-and they had never owned a pianoforte at Winterfell. Still, she kept pressing down on the keys, one after the other, listening to the rise and fall of the tone. It was something to fill the silence, though it did very little to drown out her own thoughts.

Her world was crumbling all around her. Tommen and Myrcella's death had been a hard blow. But the pain of this new truth made it hard to even breathe. After everything they had been through...after Jaime saved her life many times over and she had saved his just as often...how was she supposed to process any of this?

She pressed down on the keys again, harder this time, filling the room with the sound. She kept walking her fingers up and down, up and down, listening to the notes rise and fall. And in her head, she still heard Jaime's words.

" _If it were your family on the line and the only way to save them was to kill one innocent child you barely knew...you can't tell me you wouldn't do the same."_

The statement had thrown her because she could not resolutely say that she would not. It was for the sake of Robb and the north that she gave Joffrey's name to a faceless man. He was far from innocent, but Arya wondered if that mattered to her. She wondered if she would have killed a child she did not know in order to save her family.

" _You can't tell me you wouldn't do the same."_

In that moment, she had thought about throwing Joffrey's death in Jaime's face but she had stopped herself. For one thing, she had only told Cersei because she was close to death. For another...well she didn't want to give Jaime any ground to stand on. Besides, killing Joffrey wasn't the same. Joffrey was a demon of a boy. Bran was good at kind. It wasn't the _same._ She had every right to hate Jaime for this.

And yet...when he had pressed her own blade into her hand and leveled it with his throat...her hatred had died. The very idea of killing Jaime made her nauseous. Perhaps it was right to take revenge for her brother but...It was Jaime.

" _I'd...rather you live with it."_

It had sounded strong at the time. But Arya knew the truth-she couldn't bear to kill him. Not after everything they'd been through.

Arya slammed the whole flat of her hand down on the piano and let the sound startle her from her thoughts. Then, behind her, she heard a voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Arya whirled around to see Tywin's shadow in the doorway. She hadn't even heard the door opened amidst the whirlwind of her thoughts.

"I...wandered here," Arya said. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard the piano," Tywin said. "You weren't exactly being quiet."

Arya let her hand slip from the keys and she paced over to the windows to look down at the cliffs below. "I'm...sorry. I couldn't sleep."

Tywin sighed and the door clicked behind her. "And you just happened to wander into this room."

"Why is that so strange?" Arya asked. "Is this room significant in some way?"

Tywin did not answer immediately, and when he did, it was not convincing. "No. Not particularly."

Arya tapped her fingers against the window, still focusing on the waves. She supposed this place _was_ Tywin's home since he was a child. Any number of these rooms could have significance to him. But he would not reveal it to her. He did not seem the sentimental type.

"When do you return to King's Landing?" she asked at last.

"Tomorrow," Tywin said. "We need to make...arrangements. For the funeral and for afterwards."

"And what does happen afterwards?" Arya asked.

"You say that Margaery is pregnant," Tywin said. "If she has a boy, there will be no question of an heir."

"A baby can't sit on the throne," Arya said. "Even if it is a boy."

"No. We will enter a regency," Tywin said. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"And you will be regent?" Arya glanced at him over her shoulder.

"It's likely...yes," Tywin said.

That was a strange thought. Tywin had been the king of the Seven Kingdoms in all but name for some time. Tommen did everything he said and for a while, he was able to control Joffrey. But now being the official regent...he did not seem particularly pleased about that fact. Though of course, it was only his grandson's death which had earned him that power.

"When you leave..." Arya said, turning to look through the window again. "I'm going to return with you."

"Your duty is here at Casterly Rock," Tywin said. "You'll stay here."

"Margaery will need help in this difficult time," Arya said flatly. "I think it is my duty to give the queen some support."

"That's not your reason," Tywin said. Even when she was facing away from him, he could always pick out her lie.

Arya exhaled. "I...need to be away from Jaime for a while. For his own safety."

Tywin paused before he spoke. "You visited Cersei, didn't you?"

"I did," Arya said.

"I suppose she told you about her and Jaime."

Arya turned to look at him. "She told you?"

"She was dying. She had nothing to lose. Of course she told me," Tywin said.

Arya swallowed hard. "She...well she didn't tell me about that. I've known about Jaime and Cersei for a while."

Tywin's gaze hardened. "How long have you known?"

"Since Tommen and Margaery's wedding," Arya said. "I overheard a conversation. Tyrion filled in the gaps."

"Tyrion knew. Of course he did," Tywin shook his head. "Why didn't _you_ say anything?"

Arya raised an eyebrow. "I spent the better part of an hour trying to convince you that Cersei had turned against you, and I had an overwhelming pile of evidence. Telling you about Cersei and Jaime? You wouldn't have believed me if I tried."

Tywin didn't answer which was his version of conceding the point. Instead he crossed slowly to the window, standing beside Arya. "So what _is_ your reason for needing to be apart from Jaime?"

Arya looked down at her hands. "Do you...remember my younger brother? You must have seen him Winterfell, right? He's the one who was captured by the Freys. The one in the wheelchair."

"I remember," Tywin said.

"He didn't always need that chair. But he lost the use of his legs after he fell from a tower window when he was ten." Arya rubbed her palms together. She hated saying this out loud. It just made it more real to her. "It turns out that he didn't...fall. He was pushed. By Jaime. Bran accidentally stumbled across him and Cersei together. So Jaime tried to kill him."

Tywin, it seemed, had absolutely no idea what to say to that. He knew perfectly well how far Arya was willing to go to protect her family. It was the reason that she had stayed a cooperative ward and never thought about running. It was the reason she had slayed a king. She wondered if his mind was turning to what she might do in revenge for her brother.

"Like I said...I need time," Arya said. "I know that Casterly Rock will need guidance. But doesn't Jaime need to show himself as a leader to earn the West's respect? Leave Kevan with him to help if you need. But I cannot and will not stay here."

Tywin twisted one of the rings on his finger, thinking over what she had said. "Jaime does need to prove himself after all of his mistakes." He looked at her. "And if I told you 'no' I imagine you'd find a horse and ride north as soon as I left."

"I would," Arya agreed.

"Do as you please then," Tywin turned away from the window and paced back toward the door. "The only thing I will not allow is an annulment of the marriage."

"I expected as much," Arya said. "Thank you."

Tywin nodded once. Then he left the room again, and Arya was alone.

Slowly she sat down on the piano bench, resting her head in her hands. She wondered if some day...her life would know any peace at all.

She wondered if some day she could stop hurting.

* * *

The next day was one of painful emotions for Jaime. First there was Cersei's funeral-a short and private affair. Of course, his father would want to spread the story that Euron Greyjoy had killed her so as not to let anyone see weakness in the Lannister family. But so many soldiers had seen the truth...word would get out in time.

It didn't feel real, looking on Cersei's still face and the rocks that covered her eyes. To Jaime, she seemed like a very realistic sculpture of herself. But not Cersei. It didn't seem like Cersei.

As soon as the funeral was at its end, his father made preparations to leave with his men and the bodies of Jaime's last two children. From a distance, he saw that Arya was readying a horse as well. He didn't blame her for leaving. He supposed it was better than the alternative of her killing him.

For a moment, she looked up and her gaze met his across the courtyard. For a few, horrible seconds suspended in time, she looked at him with such...disappointment, before finally turning away.

 _So I am left alone with Casterly Rock,_ Jaime thought. _This will go terribly._

He felt a presence beside him and looked to see his uncle approaching. He was not dressed for travel, and the thought relieved him.

"Are you...staying?" he asked.

"For now," Kevan said. "Your father said I should assist you."

"Or rule the Rock yourself you mean," Jaime said. "He has far more faith in you than me."

"He said assist. Nothing more," Kevan said. "So that's what I will do."

Jaime shuddered, watching the gates open and the soldiers begin to leave. "I...can't do this uncle. I've never been...the one who was supposed to do this. Tyrion and Cersei both would have done a better job than me. Arya too. But I'm just..."

Kevan sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You're a Lannister, Jaime. And you can do this. You just...can't be your father."

Jaime glanced at Kevan. "That's what he expects of me."

"Once, perhaps. Not anymore," Kevan said. "But there are other ways to rule and to rule well. Your father's way is not the only way. It's simply...the way that worked best for him. Better that you rule as yourself, and prove to him that it's enough."

"Prove that I'm enough to my father?" Jaime laughed once. "Please, uncle. You've known him most of his life. I doubt I can prove anything to him after all the mistakes I've made."

Kevan shrugged. "Well then...I suppose you have nothing to lose." Then he turned and left Jaime standing on the balcony.

Jaime exhaled and leaned against the stone railing, turning his uncle's words over in his mind. No...there wasn't much to lose at all. Jaime had already made every possible mistake and lost everything because of it. His father didn't have any expectations for him now. He had lost them.

And it was always easier to rise above nonexistent expectations.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Ah. So many emotions. But the fic is far from over! Characters just need a bit of time to process lol. And Jaime needs to get back in the game. Nowhere to go but up from your lowest point!**_

 _ **Thanks as always for all of your wonderful reviews! I truly wish I could answer more of them because I really do appreciate it. Alas, my exhaustion often prevents me from getting to a lot of them. But, as usual, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	82. Chapter 82: Avoiding Troubles

_**A/N: This is very much a transistional and Arya focused chapter, but it has a fun cliffhanger so...sorry about that in advance. We do have the return of Syrio and Margaery in this chapter so enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 82: Avoiding Troubles**

The day that they returned to King's Landing, they rang the bells well into the evening to signal the death of the king. Books would say later that the common people wept in the streets, but Arya knew that most of them barely looked up. Those bells had told so many times in the past few years. For weddings, war and death. The sound was nothing remarkable anymore.

Arya knew that Margaery had already received word of Tommen's death, but she felt that it was her duty to personally deliver the news. She had watched him die after all, and Margaery deserved to know how it happened.

The queen was dressed in black in Arya found her, and past the loose fitted gown, Arya could see her stomach beginning to swell. She rose from her place at the window when Arya entered, and Arya wondered, for a moment, if the queen might try to put on a smile. She didn't and that hit Arya hard. She had promised to return Tommen to the capital alive...and she failed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured at last.

Margaery shook her head and closed the gap between them, drawing Arya into a tight embrace. And Arya hugged her back, trying to keep the tears from rising again. It was amazing she had any left to shed at all.

When they parted, Margaery guided Arya to sit with her at a small table next to the window. Then Arya explained all that had happened as best she could. Margaery listened in silence, alternating between staring at her hands and out the window.

When at last Arya fell silent, the queen looked up at her with a bitter smile on her face. "Cersei always was a hateful woman. Hateful to you and hateful to me. It was amazing to me that she managed to produce someone like Tommen." Margaery twisted one of her rings around her finger. "But she doomed him in the end, didn't she?"

"I'm sorry," Arya said. "I wish I could have saved him. I promised you that I would."

"You can't blame yourself for that. If it was possible to save Tommen, I'm sure you would have." Margaery exhaled. "And he wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

No. He wouldn't. Tommen had said as much right before he had died. He had told Arya it wasn't her fault. But somehow, that reassurance only made her feel guiltier.

"Tommen thought the world of you," Margaery said. "In the beginning, when I was first betrothed to him...I had to do quite a bit of work to turn his head. I think he quite wanted you as his bride." She rested her chin on her hands. "He came around, of course. But I usually don't have to try so much."

Arya's mouth twitched. "I accidentally saved him from an assassin once. I assure you, that's the only reason."

"Yes, but sometimes cheating death with a person can make you feel awfully close to them," Margaery said.

Arya rubbed her palms together. As one who had cheated death many times, she had to agree. "Did you love him?"

Margaery considered the question for a long time. "I'm not sure. I cared for him a great deal. Love...well, I think it might have bloomed if given the time. He was a sweet boy and he was actually growing into quite a man. I think he would have been a good father."

"He would have," Arya agreed. "I'm sorry that you did not have the time."

"It's something we all prepare for, isn't it?" Margaery murmured. "Nothing lasts. Even marriages in the light of the seven. So many of them are cut short by death." She smiled sadly. "Still, I was lucky to have Tommen. I could have ended up married to Joffrey which would have been a trial. I think I could have managed him for a time but...Tommen was much easier. I didn't have to fake most of my smiles around him."

"No. And I don't think he ever faked a smile in his life," Arya said.

"He was very open," Margaery agreed. "Which I suppose doesn't always make for a good ruler but...I think if given the time he would have..." her voice seemed to crack a bit and she swallowed hard to steel herself. "He would have made a good king."

Arya bit at the inside of her cheek, resting a hand over Margaery's at the table. The queen squeezed her hand in return.

"I'm glad you're here, Arya. I'm glad to have another familiar face," Margaery said after a pause. "Though, forgive me for asking, why are you here and not at Casterly Rock?"

Arya glanced out the window. "Ah...well...like you said, I'm a familiar face. I hoped I might be able to help you since I...wasn't able to bring Tommen home."

 _And I need distance from my husband...who attempted to murder my brother six years ago._

"That's kind of you," Margaery said. "Even if I don't think it's the whole truth."

Arya's mouth twitched. "It's a partial one. I _do_ want to be of some help to you."

"Then I will welcome your help," Margaery said. "And perhaps I can find out the rest of your truth along the way."

* * *

The day after Arya arrived, Tommen and Myrcella were laid to rest by the silent sisters. The funeral procession began in the morning and proceeded all the way until late afternoon as hundreds of mourners arrived to pay their respects. Tommen and Myrcella had been cleaned by the Silent Sisters, and rocks laid to rest over their eyes. Seeing them like that, lying still and dead, made Arya feel nauseous, but she knew it would be the last time she would see them at all. She tried to preserve an image of them in her mind before she turned away.

There was little time to mourn, of course. As soon as the world knew Tommen was dead, the next question inevitably arose: who would rule now? It was no coincidence, therefore, that Margaery's pregnancy was announced the day after the funeral during court. Her child would be the heir to the throne, and until said child was born and came of age, a regent would sit on the throne in their place. Of course, Tywin was the one who accepted that task.

Arya watched from the gallery that day as Tywin sat atop the throne and dealt with the matters of the court. He sat amongst the swords as if he was born to it, and yet he did not seem particularly happy, especially for a man who was so keen on power. Maybe some power was too costly for even the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Later that day, the Dornishmen also prepared to leave for their home. Oberyn found Arya in her sparring room while she was in the midst of practicing her forms.

"Prince Oberyn," Arya greeted him. "Did you come to practice?"

"To say goodbye," Oberyn said. "There's no reason left for us to stay in the capital, and we've already been away for much longer than we intended."

Arya slowly lowered her sword. "It's a shame...I'll miss your company."

"And I'll miss yours," Oberyn said. "Excitement seems to follow you everywhere you go."

"It does, doesn't it," Arya sighed. "Thank you. You saved me back at Casterly Rock. I'm not sure I ever got the chance to thank you in the chaos."

"I wouldn't worry. Your gratitude was implied," Oberyn said. "And it's what any decent person would have done."

"Maybe, but you could have let me die," Arya said. "It would have destroyed Lord Tywin's legacy. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"If I wanted that, Myrcella would have received very different treatment in Sunspear," Oberyn said. "The only ones I want dead are the ones responsible for my pain. You are not one of those. In fact, I am quite fond of you, Lady Arya."

Arya gave him a small smile, but it faltered quickly. "So...now that Myrcella has gone, where do our houses stand with each other?"

"We'll have to see," Oberyn said. "But, I promise that any future conflict is not personal."

"It would be personal," Arya just said. "Just not concerning me."

Oberyn smirked. "Yes, correct." He reached out to take her right hand, bending to kiss the back of it. "Farewell, Lady Arya. I hope you have some time to rest before the next war."

Arya laughed once at the idea. "If only this world would run out of wars."

Once Oberyn had gone, Arya found her choice of companions greatly reduced. Tommen and Myrcella were gone. Jaime was in Casterly Rock and she did not even want to think about him. Tywin...well Tywin had so many responsibilities now that she did not wish to bother him, nor did she want him to remind her of her duties to House Lannister.

Most often, she spent her days with Margaery, helping her with matters of state and with her growing child. For the first time, Arya actually felt she had access to the real Margaery-the one behind the smiles-and she much preferred her. In public, Margaery put on an air of some untouchable lady who never tripped or stumbled or even stuttered. Never one hair out of place. Now Arya saw her complain and snap and mutter insults under her breath and it made her smile. Even roses had thorns.

But even Margaery ventured to ask about Jaime on occasion. Even Margaery wondered about the future of Arya _Lannister_ , and it was the kind of future that Arya wanted to ignore for a while.

When Arya was not with Margaery, she was training. She trained with Syrio as often as she possibly could to make up for the lessons she had missed while at war. He was the one person who would not ask her about her past or her future or her house. Syrio always stressed the importance of remaining in the moment during training. If one focused on the past, they wouldn't see what was in front of them. If one focused on the future, they would not catch an attack from behind.

So Arya tried to stay aggressively in the present as she practiced with him day after day. And still, he managed to beat her with ease.

Arya gasped for breath as her back smacked against the floor. It was the third time that day, and she was beginning to get annoyed.

"You cannot fight well on your back," Syrio chided.

With a growl, Arya snapped back to her feet, turning her sword in her hand. "Again."

"We could go again, and you would end up in the same place," Syrio said. "Because you are with your trouble."

"I'm not," Arya said. "I'm not thinking about my trouble. Only the present moment."

"Just because you are not thinking of it does not mean you are not _with_ it," Syrio reached out, poking her forehead with his practice sword. "And you are."

Arya's eyes narrowed and she smacked the practice sword away, advancing on him. With each jab she made, he dodged easily.

"Do you think through every move of your sword before you make it?" Syrio, ducking under another swipe and spinning around her. His staff cracked against the back of her leg, and she stumbled forward. "No. You move on _instinct_. And just as you fight with your instincts..." Arya spun and swiped at him again, but he stepped to the side and knocked her feet out from under her, sending her onto her back again. "You instinctively stay in your trouble."

Arya glared at him. "Well what exactly am I supposed to do then? If I think about my trouble, I fail. If I avoid my trouble, I still-"

"Ah, ah." Syrio wagged his finger. "Avoiding is not a solution. When you ignore your problems, they do not go away. They stay. They gnaw at you. They weaken you."

Arya slowly got to her feet. "Then what's the solution exactly?"

"Confront the problem," Syrio said. "Handle it, if you can. Accept it if you cannot." He stepped closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You have not done either."

Arya dropped his gaze. "It's...complicated."

"Good. So is swordplay. You did not learn to fight in a day, did you?" Syrio asked. "You earned scrapes. And bruises. And wounds that will never heal." He took her right hand in his, holding it up so that she could look upon the stumps of her two little fingers. "And you got stronger. It was not simple, was it?"

"This is different," Arya said.

"Different, yes. But still the same," Syrio smiled softly at her. Then he stepped back, taking a stance again. "Take a deep breath, Lady Arya. We have awhile yet to go."

Arya obeyed, taking a stance again. She breathed and tried to let go of her troubles-and ended up on her back again not five minutes later.

* * *

Syrio was right. She could not pretend that Jaime did not exist. She could not pretend that he wasn't a part of her. Ever since she had come to King's Landing all those years ago, he had wound his way into her life, slowly but surely. In the one year that she did not talk to Tywin, he had been practically her only companion. This keep was full of memories with him, in particular the room where she practiced. Because long before Syrio had returned to her, she had sparred with Jaime.

Soon after that lesson, Arya found herself going to Varys. The spider was known to have eyes and ears everywhere, and he undoubtedly had some at Casterly Rock. She did not want to write to Jaime. She did not want to speak to him at all. Not yet. But she could at least find out how he was doing from another source.

"You wish for a report on Casterly Rock?" Varys asked. "I'm sure Lord Tywin could give you such a report."

"He's quite busy these days," Arya said.

"And you assume I am not?" Varys asked.

"No...I just hoped you would have a bit of time to give me an honest account," Arya said. "You're good at those, I hear."

Varys smiled. "So they tell me." He shuffled through a few letters on his desk. "We haven't spoken much, have we, Lady Arya?"

"No," Arya said. "I'm afraid not."

"I have been watching your movements with great interest," Varys said. "You have...shifted the course of this country in ways that I don't think you can fully appreciate. If Lord Tywin had not discovered you as his cupbearer well... I think things would have turned out very differently for us all."

"Better or worse?" Arya asked.

"It's hard to say. I know many things but I cannot tell you what might have been," Varys said. "I am appreciative of the role you played in ending Lord Baelish. He was a poison for the realm who would have worked to throw it into chaos."

"It was a pleasure to help end him," Arya said. "He tried to return my family to war with the crown."

"Yes, and you kept peace between the west and the north," Varys said. "The commonfolk would thank you for that."

"They wouldn't thank me for the civil wars that followed," Arya said.

"Ah, those were not of your own making, I think" Varys said. "Though you certainly had a part to play." He sat down. "Setting all of that aside, you came to ask about Casterly Rock."

"I will be returning there eventually," Arya said. "I'd like to know what kind of situation I will have to deal with."

"More stable than you think," Varys said. "All reports say that Ser Jaime is dealing quite well with the aftermath of the war with the Greyjoys. Most of the damage inflicted was on the Farmans, and he has focused diligently on repairing their ships." He folded his hands together. "Surprisingly, he has also shown some care for the common folk who lost their homes in the raids. Many have been offered sanctuary at various keeps or given license to gather resources in usually forbidden areas. I suppose he believes that loyalty from the people will be important in this time, especially after House Lannister has been wounded in so many wars. It would be a bad time for the people to turn against the Lion."

"And its working?" Arya asked.

"Well enough," Varys said. "I wouldn't say the west is peaceful and prosperous, but its stable. It could certainly be worse."

Arya's mouth twitched. She was sure that Kevan was helping Jaime with managing the Rock. But all the same, it seemed he wasn't as bad at ruling as he thought.

She shook away that smile quickly, as the pain of their last encounter returned to her, standing from her seat. "Thank you Lord Varys," Arya said. "I'll come to see you again...for more updates."

Varys inclined his head. "I look forward to it, my lady."

The months continued to pass. Arya practiced with Syrio and solicited new information from Varys. She passed her eighteenth name day and barely noticed it. More visitors came to King's Landing, including Olenna Tyrell, who looked forward to the birth of her great grandchild. Margaery's belly continued to swell until, one night, her water broke.

Arya was woken in the middle of the night by a guard saying that Margaery had asked for her. She dressed at once and ran for the room with all haste. Even before she reached the doorway she could hear the screams of childbirth. It was not the first time she had heard them. She remembered when Rickon came into the world, though she had been quite young at the time.

When she entered the room, Margaery was damp with sweat and pale as a ghost. Arya strode forward and offered her hand and Margaery grabbed it with such force that Arya thought she might crush her fingers.

"You took too long," Margaery gasped.

Arya's mouth quirked. "The Red keep is rather large, your grace. I'm sorry that I could not run faster."

"Yes, you should be." Margaery squeezed her eyes shut. "Seven hells, make this child hurry up."

"That's certainly not in my power."

"Try _anyway_."

Arya promised her that she would, but she did not move from her spot by Margaery's side. Fortunately, the labor was not long. In the next hour, the baby was born and its squalling absolutely filled the room. Arya and Margaery both let out a breath.

"A boy," the midwife said.

Margaery let out a sigh of relief. That was the right answer. It was one less complication for the continuing of the Baratheon line. A boy, at least, would be accepted by all of the lords without a fuss.

The queen at last released Arya's hand and held out her arms for the child. "Here...give him to me. Please."

The midwife obeyed, setting the child in Margaery's arms. He was a small little thing, with only a small tuft of light brown hair. But his cry was strong and healthy.

Arya looked from the baby to the midwives. "Will the queen be all right?"

"Almost certainly," the midwife said. "Her current bleeding is normal."

Arya exhaled. Thank the gods. She did not have the energy to deal with any more deaths or funerals. For once, she was glad for good news.

* * *

The child was presented to the court a few days later once Margaery was back on her feet. Steffon Baratheon, named for Tommen's paternal grandfather. Margaery confessed that she had thought about naming the child after his father but the loss of Tommen was still too painful to think about.

Arya could see that Tywin himself was visibly relieved by the birth of the boy. No doubt he had been ceaselessly wondering how he might handle the situation if the baby died or was born a girl. Now he did not have to worry.

Of course, now that the baby was born, Arya felt more of a need to avoid Tywin than ever. What if he decided that Margaery no longer needed Arya's assistance and that it was time for her to return to the Rock? She still wanted to wait a bit longer for that.

Instead, she continued to visit Varys periodically to hear how Jaime was managing. Sometimes he reported mistakes or blunders, but they were mostly small. All and all, Jaime seemed to have earned the respect of the west over those past months. He had shown himself to be a leader.

There had been an awful lot of good news...so Arya really wasn't very surprised when Varys had other business to discuss with her one day when she visited.

"This letter came today," Varys said, handing her a sealed scroll. "It is meant for Lord Tywin."

"I assume you read it first," Arya said.

"It's sealed," Varys reminded her.

"Yes, and I have no idea how people like you always manage to read sealed letters, but you do," Arya said. "Why are you giving it me?"

"Because...you seem the best person to give Lord Tywin this news," Varys said. "Perhaps you can soften the blow."

Arya swallowed hard. "What blow, exactly?"

"The letter is from Lord Tyrion," Varys said.

Arya's eyes widened. "It's...Tyrion? Really?" She stood abruptly. "Is he all right?"

"Yes, he seems to be doing quite well," Varys said. "In fact, he's become a Hand just like his father. But Hand to a queen, not a king."

"A queen." Arya paled as she realized what that meant. "A dragon queen?"

Varys nodded once.

Arya looked from Varys to the scroll. "Does that mean-"

"Yes," Varys said. "It means Daenerys Targaryen is coming to Westeros."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Daenerys is returning with Tyrion at her side. Which should be a super fun time for everyone! We are entering the final arc, my friends, and I'm so grateful that everyone has stuck with me for so dang long through this massive fic. Still got about fifteen chapters remaining by my current estimate, so we'll see where it goes! As always, reviews, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	83. Chapter 83: Bad and Worse

_**A/N: Well...last night's episode sure did happen, didn't it? They sure were showing something for over an hour. And it sure was...well it definetily existed!**_

 _ **But let's not linger on that! I've got a long ass chapter for all of you with many fun scenes that I enjoyed writing. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 83: Bad and Worse**

Arya could not begin to express how much she did _not_ want to bring this letter to Lord Tywin. Tyrion had always been a sore topic between them for obvious reasons, and how exactly _did_ one tell a man like Tywin that his son had joined his enemy and was supporting her in retaking the Iron throne? Especially when Tywin had only just finished dealing with the betrayal of his daughter.

It wasn't that Arya was angry at Tyrion. In a lot of ways, she understood. Tywin let him take the blame for the murder of a king and banished him across the sea to live out the rest of his days exiled from his home and family. Why wouldn't Tyrion join forces with the one woman who might be able to take him home?

But seven hells, his timing was _terrible_.

None the less, Arya made the slow journey to the tower of the hand, clutching the scroll tight in her hand. She prepared herself for Tywin's anger, knowing that at the very least, it wouldn't be directed at her. But she wondered if, across the sea, Tyrion might feel a chill.

Tywin was reading another letter when Arya entered the room, and his eyebrows rose when he noticed her. "Lady Arya. It's been some time since you've come here."

"I assumed that with your new responsibilities, you would be too busy for our lessons," Arya said.

"You assume correctly," Tywin said, tossing the letter onto his desk.

"Good news or bad?" Arya asked.

"A report from Jaime," Tywin said. "They tracked down the last of the Greyjoy ships. There should be no more attacks on the coast for a while."

Arya fidgeted with the scroll behind her back. "That...is good news."

Tywin studied her. "And that scroll behind your back? I assume that it's not good news."

"No," Arya said.

"And how would you know if it's good or not unless you read it?" Tywin asked.

"I didn't," Arya said. "Varys did...and told me to give it to you."

"He shouldn't have read the letter either."

"He reads _every_ letter in King's Landing. You know he does."

Tywin exhaled. "And who is this letter from?"

Arya pressed her thumb against the red seal. It was a hand, nearly identical to the one that Tywin used as hand of the king. "Tyrion."

Tywin's brow furrowed. Then he gestured for Arya to hand over the scroll. She obeyed then folded her arms behind her back as she waited. Tywin studied the seal for a moment before splitting it with his thumb and reading.

His face barely moved, and yet Arya could sense his fury. Twice, his eyes skimmed over the words. Then he tossed the scroll wordlessly onto the desk.

"May I read it?" Arya asked softly.

Tywin nodded once.

Arya plucked the scroll from the desk and read.

 _Father,_

 _I apologize, but I will no longer be keeping to my banishment in Essos. I am now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons, breaker of chains and the rightful ruler of Westeros. Naturally, my new position calls me home. Queen Daenerys will reach Westeros before the moon's turn. She has promised mercy to all those who kneel. For the future of our house, I suggest you take this under advisement._

 _Hand of the Queen,_

 _Tyrion Lannister_

"I should have known he would find some way to destroy this family," Tywin said. "Now, Daenerys Targaryen is giving him his chance."

"You sent him away for a crime he didn't commit," Arya said. "How can you blame him for wanting revenge?"

"If he wanted revenge, he should kill me and be done with it," Tywin said. "Instead he brings the Mad King's daughter with him to Westeros and dooms the entire country."

Arya read over the letter again. "No...I don't think he sent this letter as part of his revenge. This is a warning." She looked up at Tywin. "It's a poor strategy to give your enemies time to prepare for an assault. If he wanted to burn House Lannister he would let Daenerys Targaryen's arrival be somewhat of a surprise, don't you think?"

Tywin rubbed his temples. "Perhaps it doesn't matter if we have warning or not. She does have dragons."

"Maybe. But still," Arya said. "It's like you say, if this was simply for revenge, Tyrion could have paid some assassin to kill you a long time ago. Maybe he wants you dead, but he doesn't want Jaime dead. I know that for certain."

"You haven't spoken to Tyrion since you were fourteen. You can't know anything about him for certain," Tywin said. "Regardless of Tyrion's motives...Daenerys Targaryen is coming to Westeros for the Iron Throne, and her only rival was just born a fortnight ago. She will bring armies and dragons and all of the fire and blood associated with her house."

"Then we need to prepare to fight," Arya said. "We have the North, the West, the Reach, the Riverlands, the Crownlands, the Stormlands. We must have some chance against her."

Tywin didn't speak for a moment. Then he reached beneath his desk and brought out a map of Westeros. He circled around to roll it out on the table between them so that Arya could see. "You're right. We do have many of the seven kingdoms on our side. But it's not about the number of kingdoms. It's the number of men." He tapped the north. "In the past, the Starks have always commanded significant numbers. But currently, the fighting forces in the north are reduced to about one third of their usual size. Between the War of Five Kings, the War at the Wall, and the Civil war with the Boltons, the north doesn't have the ability to wage war like it once did. I would guess they still have about 8,000 men."

Arya swallowed hard. That was true enough. The Boltons and their allies had been practically wiped off the map, besides a few children, and the Umbers, the largest house in the north, had been halved. Even before that, so many northmen had been lost in wars to the south and the surprise attack at the Riverlands had been devastating for Robb's allies. They had men, true enough. But not many.

"Then we have the Riverlands," Tywin said. "Similar problem. Torn by civil war and the War of Five Kings. The Freys, the largest house in the Riverlands, is wiped out. Many of their allies are reduced. And of course, the Tullys have been hanging on by a thread for some time. Besides that, the Riverlands never commanded a great many troops. They don't have the resources for it."

"They didn't suffer as much in the civil war though," Arya said. "You made sure that most of the Frey allies surrendered immediately. None of them wanted to fight the Lannisters."

"No. And they'll surrender just as easily when they see a dragon flying overhead. At most, we can expect 6,000 soldiers," Tywin said. "Next, we have the Vale. They have approximately 45,000 fighting men, but Lysa Arryn is in a fragile state of mind and she coddles the young lord of the region. They never leave and they have been practically unresponsive. If given the choice between war or hiding away in their mountains, they will choose to hide."

"My mother could convince her to help. They're sisters," Arya reminded him.

"Your mother couldn't convince her to help the north during the civil war. Or the war of the Five Kings. She won't do any better here," Tywin said. "And Lysa Arryn's neutrality is the best case scenario. In the worst case scenario, Daenerys Targaryen flies her dragon up to the mountain fortress and forces the Arryns to bend and support her or die."

"Just like Visenya Targaryen did," Arya recalled.

"Correct. So the best we can hope for is that the Vale won't enter the war," Tywin said. "Then comes the Greyjoys. Obviously, your brother decimated their forces when he quelled the rebellion. Any survivors will back the dragon queen just like Euron Greyjoy did. It is possible that he was acting on his own of course. But not all of Balon Greyjoy's people were killed during the rebellion. His daughter, Yara Greyjoy, escaped across the narrow sea. She will have given her support to the Dragon Queen. It's her best chance at reclaiming the Iron Islands."

"She can't have very many troops," Arya said.

"No. Her numbers will be in the hundreds. But she's had time to rebuild her navy, and it happens that her uncle just crippled ours," Tywin said. "Our other allies have ships, but the Greyjoys have always been the principal naval power. Speaking of which, Euron Greyjoy has just ensured that the West loses another crop of soldiers. We did not suffer losses quite as heavy as the north or the Riverlands in either of the previous wars, but our military has still been reduced. On top of that, we have only had a few months to recover. So we are not at our best. 25,000 soldiers at most. The Stormlands, like so many of our other allies, are militarily weak and have been ever since Renly and Stannis Baratheon clashed. They only have a few thousand to offer." Tywin looked up at her. "That leaves two major regions with strong armies and plentiful resources that have, for the most part, avoided significant losses in war."

"The Reach and Dorne," Arya said.

"Correct," Tywin tapped his finger against High Garden. "The Tyrells were involved in the War of Five Kings, of course. But they played the game well and managed to avoid many casualties. And they have not been involved in any of the ensuing civil wars. They've always been known more for their resources than their military prowess, but nobody can deny the strength of 50,000 men in a fight, and there are some excellent generals amongst the Tyrell banners." His finger slid south. "Unfortunately, we also have Dorne. Completely uninvolved in _any_ conflict since Robert's Rebellion a war in which they were the Targaryen's primary ally. They have nearly as many fighting men as the Reach, and they _will_ back the Targaryen girl. There's no question of that."

Arya pressed her lips together in a tight line, remembering what Oberyn had said when he parted with her.

" _Farewell, Lady Arya. I hope you have some time to rest before the next war."_

He seemed to expect another war. Perhaps even a war against the Lannisters. Arya would not be surprised if the Dornish had already allied with the Targaryens and yet...

"If...the Dornish were planning to back the Targaryens, it seems strange that Oberyn would help me at Casterly Rock," Arya said.

"His quarrel isn't with you," Tywin reminded her. "If Daenerys offered him or any of his family a chance to get rid of me, they will take it."

Arya couldn't argue with that. Perhaps Oberyn had not needed vengeance from Cersei because Daenerys Targaryen had already promised it to him. But still, she was not looking forward to facing him in the field.

"The Dornish have as many fighting men as the Tyrells," Tywin continued. "But in general, they are more skilled in combat. Even the Targaryens at the peak of their strength could not bring them into the fold with war. They had to use marriage. And the Dornish are the only people to bring down a dragon without a dragon of their own."

"Which would be a useful skill to have in this case," Arya said. "So the Dornish and Greyjoys back Daenerys Targaryen. Maybe some scattered houses from other regions who don't want to die. And the Vale is also a possibility. While we have the loyalty of everyone else." She did the math quickly in her head. "That's...over 90,000 for us. And they have 50,000 so long as Lysa Arryn does not join the war. If she does, our numbers will be even."

"They will be. And then we take into account Daenerys Targaryen's armies," Tywin said. "10,000 unsullied and nearly 100,000 dothraki riders. Even without the support of the Dornish, she would outnumber us. And it's not just the quantity. It's the quality of soldiers." He looked up at her. "Do you know anything about unsullied or Dothraki?"

"The Dothraki are horse masters," Arya said. "And the Unsullied... they're slave soldiers aren't they?"

"Slave soldiers whom the Targaryen girl has apparently freed," Tywin said. "But they are trained from childhood in endurance and combat with many different weapons. They are also trained to have no fear. When most soldiers flee on the battlefield, the Unsullied will fight to the death every time. As for the Dothraki, their riders far surpass our own. To meet them in the open field would be suicide. Of course we could hide in our castles and try to wait them out. We'll have more supplies, after all. And the Dothraki are not used to laying siege."

"But they'll turn on the smallfolk if we do that," Arya said. "Burn out the whole countryside."

"And the smallfolk would all too happily bend to the Dragon queen if she offers them salvation from that fate," Tywin said. "And even then...the dragon queen might not even need to lay siege. Because she has three full grown dragons. They say one of them is Balerion reborn, and you saw what that creature did to Harrenhal." Tywin looked at her seriously. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"We can't win in the field. We can't win in a siege. And that means..." she trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

"That we can't win at all," Tywin finished for her.

Arya looked up at him, not sure what to say. Tywin Lannister had fought in war after war all throughout his life and he had never lost a single one. If he had, then he would be dead by now. In ever conflict, he found a way to achieve victory, even at a great cost. And here he was telling her that they would lose.

"So...what?" Arya asked softly. "What do we do?"

"We hope that the dragon queen is willing to discuss before she fights," Tywin said. "A diplomatic approach may be the only way to achieve some sort of victory. If we are unable to prevent war...then I predict several great lines will end before winter returns."

Arya took a long time to absorb this knowledge. She knew exactly which great lines were the most in danger. They were the some houses which had risen up against House Targaryen all of those years ago. Stark, Lannister, Baratheon. The only one left of House Baratheon was little Steffon and he only had a claim because no one knew that he was a bastard. If he was taken or harmed, the stag would fall. The Starks would follow if Robb refused to kneel for the new queen. After all, their father father had fought beside Robert Baratheon every step away, so Daenerys Targaryen likely would not have any fondness for the wolf. As for the Lannisters...well that was the worst of all. Tywin had her niece and nephew killed during the sack of King's Landing and Jaime had murdered her father himself. She would want vengeance just like Oberyn Martell.

But Arya could not let that happen. She refused to lose anyone else.

"Where will she land?" Arya asked.

"Dragonstone," Tywin said. "It's where she was born, and it's the ancestral seat of her house. Ever since we brought down Stannis Baratheon, it has sat empty."

"We should send an envoy then," Arya said. "To meet with her and extend an invitation to negotiate."

Tywin nodded once, studying the map.

"More specifically, you should send me," Arya said.

"Absolutely not," Tywin said without even looking up.

"Why?" Arya asked. "I'm your best option. I can speak for House Stark and House Lannister, but I wasn't born during Robert's Rebellion so she doesn't have any personal vendetta against me. Not to mention, Tyrion will be there. I doubt he'll let her kill me."

"You assume he has control over her," Tywin said.

"He's a _Lannister_ who managed to negotiate his way into being her Hand," Arya said. "If he didn't have some degree of her trust, he would be dead." She leaned across the table. "We need someone to meet with her if we want to get a read on her. We need to see just how merciful or ruthless this new queen is-where she stands between the Mad King and Good Queen Alysanne."

"And what would you do if she is like her father?" Tywin asked. "If she saw you, a Stark who married a Lannister, and decided you would be better dead than alive."

Arya lifted her chin. "I would plant a blade between her eyes before she kills me. Cut off the head of the dragon."

"And then die yourself," Tywin said.

"It would save everyone else," Arya said. "In any case, I don't think she is like the Mad King. If she was, she would have burned Tyrion long ago. The fact that she didn't tells me that she is open to reason."

Tywin paced away from the table, back to his desk. He really did look exhausted. The lines on his face were even more prominent than usual.

"Please," Arya said. "I won't fail. And I won't die."

"You've already survived a great deal of terrible people," Tywin said. "You never know when your luck might run out."

"Not yet," Arya said. "Not today."

Tywin studied his desk, tapping his fingers against the wood. "I will consider it," he said at last. "That's all I can promise you."

Arya nodded. She supposed that was the best she could hope for. "I'll...leave you to it then."

As she turned toward the door to leave, Tywin called out again. "Arya."

She glanced back over her shoulder. "Yes."

"If I catch trying to sneak out of the Red Keep to go to Dragonstone on your own...I'm locking you in your room with heavy guard. Do you understand?"

Arya almost laughed, but she restrained herself. "Yes, my lord. I understand."

* * *

Hundreds of ravens flew from the tower that day. Hundreds of ravens, all with the same words. Daenerys Targaryen was coming to Westeros to wreak havoc upon the land like her father before her, and all the lords of Westeros were advised to ride to King's Landing with all haste and swear their men to defend the crown. They were fortunate, of course, that so many people remembered living under the Mad King, and very few would be keen on another Targaryen sitting on the iron throne after they fought and bled and burned to overthrow them.

But the first visitors to arrive were not any of the lords of Westeros. Rather, it was a small ship from White Harbor, bearing two familiar faces.

It was Varys who gave Arya the news and told her that she should go to the docks as soon as possible.

"Why?" Arya asked. "Did something happen there?"

"No," Varys said. "But I assumed you would want to see your brothers."

Arya's eyes widened. "Which...which brothers?"

"Your bastard brother," Varys said. "And the crippled one. They've come to seek an audience with the throne."

Arya barely got out a thank you before she turned and sprinted down the hall and she did not stop running until she reached the docks. From the top of the hill she could see several men carrying her brother's chair up one last flight of stairs. And at the top of those stairs was Jon.

His dark hair was longer than when she last saw him and he had grown a beard. He looked dreadfully weary...but he was still Jon. And when he turned to see her, a smile lit up his face.

"Arya."

Arya skipped the last few steps as she ran and launched herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly. She had expected that she would soon see Robb again, and even Sansa and her mother. But not Jon. This was a pleasant surprise amongst so much unpleasantness.

"What are you doing here?" Arya asked when Jon set her back on her feet. "Did you come to gather men for the watch? That's not a job for a Lord Commander, is it?"

"No. I'm...well, I'm not Lord Commander anymore," Jon said. "I'm not a member of the Night's Watch anymore."

Arya's brow furrowed. "Night's watch vows are...for life."

"Yes. For life. But it's complicated," Jon said.

"We can explain at another time," Bran said as the men set his wheel chair on level ground. "There are more important matters to attend to first."

Arya felt a lump form in her throat as she remembered, once again, the reason her brother was in that chair. Then she bent to pull Bran into a hug. "It's good to see you. I'm glad you survived the north."

"Part of me did, anyway," Bran said. There was a flat quality to his voice and Arya pulled back slowly to look at him. Bran's eyes seemed distant and so much older than she remembered them. They had only been apart for a few years, yet he seemed to have aged decades.

"Bran...are you...?"

"I'm afraid that's a long story as well," Jon said. "We came to meet with the king, but it seems the king is dead."

"Lord Tywin is regent now," Arya said. "But if you aren't here to gather men, what are you here for?"

Jon looked off down the steps. Arya followed his gaze and saw that near his ship, there were several northmen struggling with a large crate. Something inside it was rattling like it wanted to get out and Arya thought she heard a scream from inside.

"Something urgent," Jon said at last. "Something life or death."

"Something more dangerous than dragons?" Arya asked dryly. But Jon did not smile. His face was deathly serious.

"Yes. Much more dangerous."

Arya felt a shiver go through her. She looked from Jon to Bran who looked on without blinking.

"He'll be holding court in a few hours," Arya said. "I'll make sure he sees you first."

* * *

The room was full of lords and ladies of the court, many of them already concerned with the incoming arrival of the dragon queen. Arya stood beside Bran in the gallery looking out over the crowd as Jon approached. His men set the crate behind him. It had stopped rattling, for now, but Arya knew that something horrifying was inside that box.

"Jon Snow, was it?" Tywin said.

"Yes, my lord regent," Jon bowed his head slightly.

"I've been told you came with an urgent matter," Tywin glanced briefly to Arya. "But if you are looking for more men to man the wall, I cannot help you. We have our own concerns in the south, and it is my understanding that the war with the wildlings is at an end."

"Aye, my lord. It is," Jon said. "I wish that I was only here because of wildlings. But I came because of something much worse."

"Worse than dragons?" Tywin asked.

"Worse than dragons," Jon said. "You will be hard pressed to believe me, I know. But I beg that you hear me out."

"You were given an audience for a reason," Tywin said. "Speak your peace."

"There's another army marching on the wall. Much larger than the wildling army we faced a few years ago," Jon said. "But this army cannot be reasoned with. It cannot be negotiated with. And it's soldiers are very difficult to kill...because they are already dead."

A smattering of laughter went through the room and Arya tensed on instinct, feeling an urge to rush to Jon's defense. Tywin did not laugh of course. He never did. Instead he studied Jon carefully.

"You do not seem like a mad man, Lord Snow," Tywin said. "But if you are speaking of White Walkers, they have been gone for thousands of years. You can't expect anyone here to believe that they have returned."

"You're right. I can't. So I brought proof." Jon crossed to the crate, motioning for the men to prepare to open it. Then he looked up at Tywin, as if waiting for permission. "May I?"

Tywin nodded once. And the men opened the crate.

A creature lunged from the darkness of the box with a horrid screech. In shape, it only barely resembled a man. Its flesh was hanging from its bones and its jaw stretched too wide. One of its eyes was missing, but the other was the brightest blue Arya had ever seen. It scrambled across the floor, making its way toward the first lord it saw, sending the noblemen scattering back. No one was laughing now. They were screaming.

Then Jon seized the chain around its neck and jerked back. The creature lost its feet and collapsed to the ground. It let another unholy scream and Arya felt a shiver go through her. She looked from the undead creature to Lord Tywin who was clutching the sides of the Iron Throne in a death grip.

"This is one of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, all making their way south," Jon said. "These wights are mindless, intent only on killing, but the white walkers that lead them are not. At their head is the Night King...and he intends to cover Westeros in an endless night." He looked up at Tywin. "If they cross the wall...the whole country is doomed."

For a long time, silence filled the room, filled only with the snarls of the wight on the ground. Everyone was imagining what an army of those things would like and how they could possibly be defeated.

At last, Tywin spoke. Somehow, his voice was measured and calm. "If they are already dead, can they be killed?"

"Yes," Jon said. "By fire and by dragon glass. As it happens, my friend discovered a considerable deposit of dragonglass beneath Dragonstone. If it can be forged into weapons, we have a better chance."

Arya let out a long sigh. Dragonstone. Of _course_ it was Dragonstone. The very place where Daenerys Targaryen intended to land her troops.

"I would of course give you permission to mine there," Tywin said. "Unfortunately, I am not the one you will have to convince. Our scouts report that Daenerys Targaryen has nearly arrived in Westeros and that is where she will land her ships. She did not come to fight dead men. She came to take the Iron Throne."

"The throne won't matter if we're dead," Jon said.

"Convince her of that then," Tywin said. "The crown will send an envoy to negotiate with her. You can accompany said envoy and make your case. Take that thing with you, or she'll never believe your story."

Jon nodded slowly, jerking on the wights chain again and pulling it back toward the crate. With the help of his men, he managed to herd it back inside and shut the box tightly. Arya let out a shaky breath, looking from Jon to Tywin. Once again, things at taken a turn from bad to worse. But this was more than she had ever imagined.

Bran was right, it seemed. Winter would return to Westeros. And the dead came with it.

* * *

"Some time ago, I believe I told you that the War of Five Kings would be my last war," Tywin said later that evening. "And ever since I said that, the world has been intent on proving me wrong. It's becoming something of a farce. Dragons gone for a hundred years. White walkers gone for thousands. Now they both return to Westeros at the same time."

"Well, at least we can use these dead men to distract Daenerys Targaryen from the iron throne," Arya offered. "That's a bright spot."

Tywin rubbed a hand over his face. "There's really not a bright spot in this. Just a new way to die."

Arya didn't know how to argue with that, so instead she crossed to the table and poured two cups of wine. She crossed to Tywin and held one out to him. He accepted it wordlessly and drank.

"We might not die," Arya said. "If Jon speaks the truth, Dragonglass can be used to make weapons. And dragon fire could be useful as well. If we can only get Daenerys Targaryen to see that the threat to the north is more important than the throne...we'll have a chance."

"A small chance," Tywin said. "Your brother will have to convince her that the white walkers are real first. And you will have to convince her to postpone our war."

Arya's eyebrows shot up. "Then you're..."

"Yes. I'm sending you to Dragonstone to represent our interests," Tywin said. "That creature your brother brought has a good chance of convincing her. And if it doesn't..." he trailed off.

"If it doesn't, we'll all die." Arya raised her cup. "And legacies become meaningless."

Tywin studied her. "Are you toasting to that?"

"I don't know. I saw a corpse try to kill someone to day. I'm very shaken up."

Tywin inclined his head, drinking deeply. "Find Jon Snow. Prepare at once for the journey. Whatever men you need, you are welcome to have."

"Yes, my lord," Arya said, finishing her own cup of wine. Life really was beginning to seem like a mad sort of nightmare...but there was something oddly comforting about the near certainty of death.

At least, it meant she did not have to confront an uncertain future.

* * *

Over the next few days, Arya and Jon made preparations to leave for Dragonstone. The journey would not be long, but based on reports from their scouts, Daenerys would beat them to the small island. They would arrive under a flag of peace to negotiate for the dragon glass, as well as the realm.

Bran would stay in the capital, since travel was difficult for him. It seemed he had already travelled a very long way.

"I'll make sure that your room is close to the library," Arya said as she pushed his chair through the garden. It was surprisingly chilly that day, not what one would expect in the summer. "That way you can entertain yourself."

"I have no real need for books anymore," Bran said vacantly.

Arya's brow furrowed. "You love books."

"Yes...but there is very little they can teach me now."

Arya stopped his chair and circled around to face him. "Bran, what happened? You told me that you explain later. It's later. What happened in the north?"

Bran looked up at her, calm and unblinking. "I went past the wall."

"With Jon?" Arya asked.

"No. With Jojen and Meera Reed," Bran said. "They met us on the way to Castle Black. Jojen had seen me in a vision. They helped Hodor, Summer and I sneak past the wall."

"Why would you do that?" Arya asked. "You could have been killed."

"I wasn't," Bran said. "Not quite, I suppose. Most of the others were. Jojen. And Hodor. And Summer." He spoke the names of the dead like the rest of his words. Tonelessly. Arya shivered to hear him talk like that. Hodor and Summer were dead. They were two of Bran's closest companions. Why wouldn't her brother cry for them?

"And...what did you find north of the wall?" she asked.

"A weirwood tree and the three eyed raven," Bran said. "He taught me how to fly and how to see. I looked back into the past and saw so many things. I saw bits and pieces of the future as well...but its still hard to make sense of it all." He looked up at her, a shadow of a smile on his face. "I saw father when he was young."

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. If not for the dead man that her brothers had brought south, she may have wondered if Bran had lost his mind. But no...her brother had dreams that told of the future and had seen through the eyes of a wolf. Why shouldn't he become this three eyed raven.

"There's something you want to ask me...isn't there?" Bran asked.

As soon as he said the words, Arya's question became clear to her, but she hesitated to say it.

"Go on," Bran murmured.

"If you can see so much...I suppose you remember your fall now," she said.

"Yes," Bran said. "I remember."

Arya nodded once, tugging at the three fingers of her right hand. "You...would be in your rights to demand justice, Bran. He took so much away from you."

"It was necessary," Bran said. "The day that I fell set me on this path. I never would have become the Three Eyed Raven otherwise."

"It was still attempted murder," Arya said.

"Yes," Bran said. "And you are hoping that I will seek justice...So that you do not have to do so yourself."

The words hit her hard. Arya remembered well enough, standing in front of Jaime, clutching the blade he had shoved into her hand. In that moment, killing him had felt like the right thing to do. For Bran. For her little brother. But she couldn't do it.

Slowly, Arya sunk onto a low wall beside Bran's chair, staring at her hands. Bran was right. She did not want to kill Jaime and that fact made guilt eat at her.

"It's complicated, isn't it?" Bran asked. "On one hand, he almost killed me. On another, he saved my life at the Twins. He fought against our family in one war. Fought with it in another. Justice becomes so much more confusing then."

"It always seemed so simple when father talked about it," Arya said hoarsely.

"It seemed that way. It never was," Bran said. "Isn't that why you never finished your list."

Arya stared at Bran in surprise and he stared right back, straight into her soul. "Cersei, Joffrey, Merryn Trant, Illyn Payne, the Mountain, the Hound, Polliver, Walder Frey, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Euron Greyjoy. Tywin Lannister."

A chill went through her. "Bran...how..."

"Most of them are dead now. You killed five of them yourself. Four of them were killed by others. I don't think you even knew about Polliver, but he died fighting the Greyjoys," Bran said. "The Hound is still alive, wandering with the Brotherhood. But you barely think his name anymore. You haven't seen him in years. There's only one remaining name in your reach, isn't there?" He tilted his head to the side. "If justice is so simple, why haven't you taken it?"

Arya did not have an answer for that. Tywin Lannister's name had been on her list for so many years. And for those first years, she reminded herself every day that she could not kill him yet. Later. But not yet. At some point, and she did not know when, he stopped being necessary to her survival, and still she did not kill him. She kept him on her list. It was something of a habit. But she had stopped even considering the thought of killing him a long time ago.

"The world may end soon, Arya," Bran murmured. "Justice can be whatever you make of it."

For reasons that Arya could not identify, her eyes filled with tears and she gave him a small smile. "Well...when you put it that way...my list does seem very small."

* * *

 _ **A/N- Tywin this chapter: The gods are real and they are fucking punishing me.**_

 _ **It's a rough time for everyone and everything is happening at once! The dragons and the dead. And hopefully it'll be fun and satisfying for everyone. Good news is we meet Daenerys in the next chapter! Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	84. Chapter 84: The Dragon Queen

_**A/N: Who's ready for the meeting of Daenerys and Arya? I sure am (especially since they never exchanged words in canon lol) I took some inspiration from Dany and Jon's conversation but its mostly my own dialogue that happens to hit a few of the same, necessary beats. In addition, Jon tells his story of what happened to him over the past few years! Hope you enjoy :)**_

 **Chapter 84: The Dragon Queen**

It felt good to be on the road again, and travelling with Jon...Well, that made it even better. They had so little time together these days that Arya tried to cherish every moment she could find. Their progress to Dragonstone was slow because of the undead thing they had to travel with them. The horses pulling the cart spooked every time the creature screamed. Fortunately, both Jon and Arya had an awful lot to talk about.

"So...you said you would tell me later why you left the Night's Watch," Arya said. "Is this later?"

Jon twisted his hand in the reins. "I don't suppose you'll agree to leave it alone, will you?"

"I've never left anything alone in my entire life, Jon," Arya said.

A shadow of a smile crossed Jon's face. He seemed nearly as aged as Bran, though his eyes were not so vacant. The north had not been kind to either of her brothers. "No...I suppose not." He exhaled. "After I returned to the wall with Bran, I was elected Lord Commander by the Night's Watch. It was a close race, but I think my friend Sam managed to engineer things in my favor. For a few months, everything was fine. We focused on repairing the damage to Castle Black and training the newest recruits. The wildlings remained on the other side of the wall. They didn't make too much trouble since we had Mance Rayder locked away.

"Then, one night, Mance Rayder asked to speak with me...about the white walkers and the Army of the Dead. He warned that every wildling that remained beyond the wall would join the Night King's army if we did not do something. They hadn't come to destroy anyone south of the wall...they had come for safety," Jon shook his head. "Of course, I didn't initially believe him about his intentions, but I had seen the white walkers, and I knew they were a danger. The wildlings aren't just made of fighting men and women. There are children and elderly too. Thousands of them. I couldn't in good conscious leave them to die. The wildlings...they're really not much different than us." Jon glanced at her. "Just born on the wrong side of the wall."

"You spent some time with them, didn't you?" Arya asked.

"I was sent to infiltrate their camp years ago," Jon said. "I knew many of them by name. Some of them...by more." He shook his head. "I told Mance that I might be able to arrange for children and elderly to cross the wall. I did not want any lives lost without reason. Then he told me to go to Hardhome. Many of the noncombatants were waiting there, and if I intended to save them, I should bring them to Castle Black. So I did." Jon exhaled. "Naturally, Bran snuck beyond the wall with some new friends as soon as I left."

"How did none of the Night's Watch or Wildlings see him?" Arya asked.

"I'm not sure...and Bran never did explain exactly how he got past. Only that he had help from the Reeds," Jon said. "But when I returned, he had left a tall stack of letters on my desk to send to your mother once a month," Jon said. "At least he was trying to save me from Lady Catelyn's wrath."

"She certainly would have blamed you," Arya agreed. Her mother had never had much love for Jon, and she had been extremely reluctant to allow Bran to go with him. "So what happened at Hardhome?"

Jon looked up at the clouds, his gaze suddenly very distant. "I...saw the Night King."

Arya swallowed hard. The weight of his voice spoke to the horror of the encounter. She had never heard her brother's voice so very heavy.

"I had managed to persuade the wildlings to come to Castle Black. One of Mance's top men went with me to convince them that I spoke for Mance," Jon said. "We were loading them onto the ships when the dead arrived. I'm not sure how many we lost. Thousands, I reckon. I only just managed to escape into the boats. And then I...I watched the Night King raise his arms. And all of the dead rose with him. New soldiers in his army." Jon shook his head. "I knew then that I had to let the wildlings cross the wall. It was the only way to give the living a chance."

"What did Robb think of that?" Arya asked.

"Robb trusts me," Jon said. "Though I think...this was a stretch even for him. He said that if I let the wildlings cross that they must set up camp along the wall. They could not be allowed to cross south. Mance offered to stay a hostage in order to guarantee this. He really did want to save his people."

Arya stared at her hands. The wildlings had been considered a threat to the north for thousands of years. For Jon to let them cross...well he would only do it if Westeros was truly in danger. "And did the wildlings stay close to the wall?"

"They did," Jon said. "There were a few rebels here and there, but not enough to condemn the group. Robb sent a small crop of soldiers to the northern villages to give the smallfolk protection in case the wildlings did decide to attack. But most of the wildlings stayed peaceful. But...my decision was still not accepted amongst my men." He rubbed a hand over his chest. "So one night, some of them cornered me...and killed me."

Arya blinked. "You mean they...stabbed you. You're alive. They couldn't have killed you."

"They did," Jon said. "I took a knife in the heart and they left me to bleed on the ground. I did die."

The very idea of Jon bleeding on the ground was horrible to Arya. She thought of Tommen and the blood that stained his tunic as he breathed his last. Losing him had been a hard blow...but Jon. How could she imagine Jon suffering the same fate?

"Then...how?" she asked at last, her voice barely over a whisper.

"There was a woman," Jon said. "A woman dressed all in red. She had come a fortnight previously, claiming that she fought for the Lord of Light and was needed in the north to do his work." He shook his head. "She...well I don't know exactly what she did. One of my brothers told me later. She apparently spoke some words over me in a strange language. All I know is that one moment I was bleeding out in the snow and the next, I was awake on a table, alive."

"People can't return from the dead," Arya murmured. If they could...she would have found a way to return her father's head to his body a long time ago. She would have saved Tommen as well. It just wasn't possible.

"No. But I did. Ask any of the men who guarded my body. Every one of them is sane," Jon said. "And you know I couldn't have survived a knife to the heart."

Arya nodded once. "The people who killed you. Where are they now?"

"Dead. I executed them," Jon said. "It was my last act as Lord Commander. Night's Watch vows are for life but...I had died. I didn't want any part of it anymore. I didn't know what I wanted." He exhaled. "The next day, Bran returned to Castle Black, this time with only one of the Reeds pulling him behind her. He was...changed. But like me, he knew of the Night King and knew that he had to be stopped, no matter the cost. We needed to convince Westeros that dead men were coming for them."

"So you caught the wight," Arya said. "How did you manage that?"

"It wasn't easy," Jon said. "We knew that the white walkers would likely send small scouting parties south. And Bran was convinced that he would draw them. I took good men beyond the wall to a good vantage point and we set traps all around him and waited. In the end, we attracted a small group of the dead and killed all but one before retreating with Bran.

"Once we secured the dead man, I freed Mance Rayder and we went south along with Bran to Winterfell to show Robb what we had found. He trusted me, of course, but more than that, he trusted his eyes. Sometimes a man only needs to see the threat to understand." Jon exhaled. "He told Mance Rayder to prepare his men to fight the Night King...that if the freefolk fought alongside them, they would be allowed to live in the north in peace. Then he told us to go south. Bran insisted on coming with me. He gave us a ship at White Harbor and, well, you know the rest."

Arya clutched the reins of her horse. "And I thought I had been having a rough few years."

"I'm sure your years were eventful," Jon said. "Just different."

"Yes. Civil war. A few assassination attempts. Very boring," Arya said. "So...you're free of the Night's Watch then. What will you do?"

"Right now, I'm focused on finding a way to defeat the Night King," Jon said.

"Afterwards I mean," Arya said. "If we defeat the dead. If we live...what will you do?"

"I'm not sure," Jon said. "I haven't thought much about it. My life hasn't known peace in such a long time. I don't know how I would handle it."

Arya's mouth twitched into a small smile. "That, I can understand."

* * *

By the time Arya and Jon had reached the eastern shore of Westeros, the sails of the House Targaryen fleet were already visible at the southern edge of Dragonstone. Arya looked for the dragons as well, but did not yet see them overhead. Perhaps they were hunting. Perhaps they had died while crossing the narrow sea. As much as Arya wished to see a dragon...the second option might be far more favorable to Westeros.

They climbed into a little ship and made their way across the waters, raising a flag of peace high above. When they reached the beach, they were met with Dothraki soldiers and a young woman with light brown skin and a pleasant smile.

"Greetings," the woman said. "I am Missandei of Naath. Queen Daenerys Targaryen welcomes those who come in peace to Dragonstone."

 _I wonder if she is one of the slaves that Daenerys freed,_ Arya thought. "Well met, Missandei of Naath. My name is Lady Arya. This is my brother, Jon Snow."

"And why, may I ask, have you come to seek an audience with the queen?" Missandei asked. "To offer your support?"

"To negotiate," Arya said. "I can't offer to support to someone I've never met."

"As the last Targaryen, is she not your rightful queen?" Missandei asked. She had an innocent expression, but Arya detected a hint of iron in her tone. She smiled in return.

"That depends on who you ask."

"We came with urgent business," Jon cut in. "A matter that concerns Queen Daenerys as well as everyone with power in Westeros."

"Tell her Hand that we've come," Arya said. "We are old friends. He will speak for me."

Missandei inclined her head. "We will see. But first, I must ask you to surrender your weapons. You cannot go before the queen with them."

Arya's eyes narrowed slightly. She was reluctant to hand over either of her swords...but at the very least she had her knives hidden. She nodded and unbuckled the sheaths from her belt, handing them to the nearest Dothraki. Jon and the other men did the same.

"And what is that?" Missandei asked, nodding at the crate. It was rattling again.

"Proof of our urgent matter," Jon said. "I don't recommend opening that box yet."

Missandei scrutinized him for a long moment. Then she nodded once. "This way."

They followed the woman up the long steps of Dragonstone, followed close behind by the Dothraki soldiers. They were all tall men, though not well armored. They would be vulnerable to a sneak attack if, for whatever reason, things took a bad turn. And in war, they would be particularly vulnerable to arrows. Lack of armor would make them faster in close combat however. And-

A screech echoed from overhead, rattling Arya to her bones. Jon threw himself to the ground and Arya gripped the stone railing to steady herself as something whooshed over her head. She looked up and let the breath leave her when she saw the dragons.

Arya had read stories about the Targaryens ever since she was a child. At one point, she could name every Targaryen dragon and their riders. She had always wanted a dragon of her own one day, and when her father told her they were all dead she insisted that they weren't. They were just hiding. She would find one again someday and tame it.

Back then, she only had pictures and her own imagination. Neither did these great beasts justice. All three were massive in size with brilliantly colored scales and wings that nearly blocked out the sun. One gold, one green, one black. The black one...he truly was Balerion the Black Dread reborn.

Arya's wonder at the sight was short lived as the fear crept in. If Daenerys released these creatures on Westeros, she could burn every castle alive just as her ancestors had burned Harrenhal. King's Landing would fall. Casterly Rock would fall. Winterfell would fall. Every keep would fall unless the inhabitants bent the knee.

Jon slowly got back to his feet and Missandei smiled as he did. She had not even flinched when the dragons flew overhead. Clearly, she was used to them. "Come. We should keep moving."

They were led up the stairs and through the gates of the great keep. It truly was deserted, with only a few scattered stag banners remaining in the courtyard. Stannis had made his last stand here.

 _And Jaime lost his hand,_ Arya recalled. That seemed like such a long time ago.

Once inside, Missandei showed them into a large room which may have been used at one point for feasts and asked them to wait. The Dothraki closed and locked the door behind her.

"Well..." Arya paced the room. "I suppose if she wanted to imprison us, she would have shown us to the dungeon."

"Maybe she will...after she speaks to the Queen," Jon glanced at Arya. "I noticed you didn't give your full name."

"Whether I said Arya Lannister or Arya Stark, I don't think it would make a good first impression," Arya said. "I'll wait until I'm in front of the queen to tell her that I belong to the families that murdered hers."

"Arya Lannister," Jon repeated. "It sounds strange. I am sorry I couldn't come to the wedding."

"Oh, you didn't miss much," Arya flashed a smile. "Only one attempted assassination. It was very dull."

Jon laughed once. "Starks are attracted to danger, aren't they?"

"And you're no exception."

"Aye. I'm no exception," Jon said. "Even though I'm not a Stark."

"You are," Arya said. "You always have been and you always will be."

Jon's mouth twitched and he paced toward the windows. "I can't believe we just saw dragons. Real dragons. I had heard stories but... I don't think I really believed them."

"I wish they were stories," Arya said. "Those dragons make any chance of victory against her futile if she is anything like her ancestors."

"But they could be very effective against the army of the dead," Jon said. "Fire kills wights."

"Hopefully you can convince her to help then," Arya said. "And maybe they'll kill each other and solve the problem for us."

"The Night King can bring back the dead," Jon said. "Anyone he kills becomes another soldier in his army."

"So much for a possible silver lining," Arya said.

They lapsed into mostly silence for the next hour and Arya spent much of her time pacing around the table, thinking of every possible method of approach for the dragon queen. She rehearsed every scenario in her head knowing that she could not show weakness in this first stage. If she hesitated or faltered, Daenerys would have the upper hand, and Arya would not allow that.

At last, the door opened and Missandei gestured for them to come forward. "The Queen will see Lady Arya and Jon Snow. Your men can wait here. Along with your proof."

"The...proof might be more effective if she sees it," Jon said.

"If she decides you are trustworthy, she will," Missandei said.

Jon and Arya glanced at each other for a moment before Arya nodded once. "Lead on then."

* * *

The throne room of Dragonstone earned its name well, as every column and stair seemed to be carved from the very rock of the island-including the throne that sat at the other end. It was not quite as impressive as the iron throne, but it was still severe and imposing-fashioned from black, jagged stone. Aegon the Conqueror may have forged the iron throne, but this was where he started. This was where he first dreamed of conquering the Seven Kingdoms for his own.

Now, his descendent sat where he once had, dreaming the same dream. Even from a distance, Arya could immediately identify her silvery-white hair. She was surprisingly small for a woman who cast so large a shadow, and yet she filled the throne and the entire room with her presence.

To her right stood a more familiar face. Tyrion. He had grown a beard during his time away, but not much else had changed about him. Arya forced herself not to look at him for too long. She had come to negotiate, not to reunite with old friends. Besides, she had no idea how the years had changed Tyrion.

At last, Arya and Jon came to a stop and Missandei took her place on Daenerys' left side.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," she said. "The First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons".

Arya glanced from Missandei back to the queen in question. "You have many titles, your grace. It must be tiring to introduce yourself."

For a moment, Daenerys did not respond and Arya watched to see how she would react. Her lips quirked just slightly. Good. She at least a slight sense of humor about herself. "Occasionally. But I earned every title."

"I've heard the stories. I would love to hear them from you," Arya said. "It is an honor to meet the last Targaryen."

"Is it?" Daenerys said. "I can't imagine your father would have said the same."

"My father did not know you, so I can't be sure." Arya smiled tightly. "I do hope that we're not basing our first impressions of each other on our fathers."

"Arya Stark was born long after Robert's Rebellion, your grace," Tyrion cut in. "She played no part in the destruction of your family."

"I didn't," Arya agreed. "Though I apologize, Lord Tyrion, your information is slightly outdated. It's Arya Lannister now."

Tyrion blinked in surprise. It took him a moment to fully process Arya's words. "Arya Lannister. That's a queer combination. I don't supposed you can tell me which Lannister my father married you off to."

"Well, if it makes it easier, you're now my brother by law," Arya said.

"Ah," In spite of himself, Tyrion's mouth twitched. "I'm eager to hear that story."

Arya smiled. "Later perhaps."

"So," Daenerys said. "You are the daughter of a man who took up arms against my father and married to the man who killed him."

"Well, I'm afraid that when it comes to birth and marriage, women have very little say in Westeros," Arya said. "Is it different in Essos?"

"No. It isn't," Daenerys said. "None the less, if you are both Stark and Lannister, I wonder why you have come here. Do either families, perhaps, wish to bend the knee."

"No," Arya said. "I'm afraid not."

"That's unfortunate," Daenerys said. "As I recall, the last King in the North and King in the West bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen and agreed to serve him in perpetuity. Forever."

"The last King in the North was my brother Robb Stark," Arya said flatly. "And he bent the knee to Tommen Baratheon. I suppose that confuses things."

"Well...if you are not here to bend I am not sure how much we have to discuss."

"We did not come to talk of the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms," Jon spoke up for the first time. "We came because we have urgent business with you."

Daenerys tilted her head to the side. "And who are you?"

"I'm Jon Snow, your grace," Jon said. "I'm Ned Stark's bastard son and, until recently, I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"The Night's Watch," Daenerys repeated. "I've heard them mentioned before, but I confess I do not know much about them."

"They are set to guard the realms of men against all that lie beyond the wall to the north," Tyrion explained. "It is not surprising that Jon Snow rose to be Lord Commander. From my recollection, he is a very capable young man. But it _is_ curious that you say 'until recently'."

"It's a complicated matter," Jon said. "But protecting the realms of men is exactly why we have come here today. We came to ask for your help against a great evil which marches on the wall as we speak."

"What great evil is this?" Daenerys asked, glancing briefly at Tyrion.

"I'm afraid I don't know," Tyrion said.

Jon paused for a moment, as if trying to find a way to best phrase his words. But any explanation would sound completely mad and he knew it, so he sighed and just came out with it. "An army of dead men, led by the white walkers."

"Dead men," Daenerys repeated. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

"You woke three dragons from stone," Arya said. "I don't think the walking dead are that much more unbelievable."

"You're skeptical. I understand," Jon said. "But we did bring proof, if you would only come with us."

Daenerys did not answer immediately and Arya stepped forward toward Tyrion. "You know that I'm a rational person, my lord. So is your father. When he saw my brother's proof, he believed it. That's one of the reasons he sent me. You know this isn't the kind of story he would believe easily."

Tyrion exhaled, nodding once. Then he looked to Daenerys. "I can't see any harm in looking at their evidence and deciding for ourselves."

"Very well," Daenerys rose from her seat and came down the stairs. It was only once she was level with them that Arya realized they were the same height. Somehow it was peculiar and comforting all at once that one so small could command such a presence. "Take me to your proof."

Surrounded by unsullied and Dothraki, they led Daenerys back to the room where they had left the crate. When they entered, their men backed away from the door automatically, dipping into hasty bows. The crate seemed to rattle in greeting and Daenerys' eyes narrowed. "Is that it?"

"Yes." Jon motioned for the men to gather around the crate. "I apologize in advance for this. I will not let the creature touch you."

Daenerys studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded.

The crate opened, and once again, the wight shot from the opening. This time it tried to leap across the table, right for Daenerys. One of her Dothraki sliced off its arm but it did not seem to notice the pain.

With a jerk of its chain, Jon forced it back onto the stone, leaving Daenerys stunned and gripping the back of one of the chairs for support.

"This soldier is one of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands," Jon said. "And the Night King adds more of them to his army every day. They do not feel fear or pain. They are impossible to kill unless you have the right tools."

"What are the right tools?" Tyrion asked.

"Fire. Valyrian steel. Dragonglass," Jon said. "We know of no other way."

The wight clicked its jaw and Tyrion shivered. "All right...can you...put that thing back in its box? Or kill it?"

Jon nodded, directing his men to help him herd the creature inside the crate again. Once the box was closed and rattling, a long silence filled the room.

Daenerys spent quite some time staring at the crate, gripping the back of one of the chairs so tightly that her fingers went as pale as bones. Then, when she had gathered herself, she looked up at Jon again. "I see that you are not mad. But what would you have me do against such an army?"

"For a start, this castle sits on top of a mountain of dragon glass," Jon said. "As I said, it can be forged into weapons that can kill the undead. I would ask permission to mine it. It's useless to you as a resource. It is only useful against the Night King and his armies."

"The dragon glass is a start," Arya said. "But more than that, we need a truce. You came to wage war for the iron throne. I respect that. But if we fight a war on two fronts, we will lose. And if we lose well...you'll be fighting to claim a graveyard."

Of course, Daenerys help would also be ideal. But Arya would not ask for that yet. If they asked for assistance against the undead, the dragon queen might feel that she was owed something in return-such as the crown. If they were to earn this woman's help...she would have to offer. They could not beg.

Daenerys considered their words, tapping her fingers against the back of the chair. "I'm not sure a truce would be of any benefit to me," she said. "It might only give you more time to plan for my armies."

"I don't think we'll have time for that while facing the Night King's army," Arya said.

"You might...if the threat is not quite as great as you claim," Daenerys said. "You have brought me one soldier. Perhaps there are not many like it."

"There are, I assure you," Jon said.

"And what does your word mean to me?" Daenerys asked. "I certainly don't trust any of you or your families to fight fair. I believe Tywin Lannister was the one who pretended to be an ally to my father when he arrived at the gates of King's Landing...right before he sacked the city. Jaime Lannister stabbed my father in the back. And the Starks, the Baratheons, the Arryns...all of them took up arms against their king."

"And they were right to do so," Arya said coolly. "Your father was an evil man. He burned my grandfather alive and let my uncle watch and strangle himself with his own chain. As the story goes, he laughed the whole time because he liked to watch people burn. And your brother? He kidnapped my aunt and raped her. Neither of them deserved to rule."

"I know what my father was and I know what my brother did," Daenerys said. "But what about my brother's daughter and son? Did they deserve to die? They were children. Aegon was just a baby when Tywin Lannister's men smashed him against the wall." She took a step forward but Arya stood her ground. "I suffered greatly for the sins of my father and brother. I spent my childhood running in fear, living in poverty in Essos, with only my second brother for company. I was sold to a war lord in marriage. Raped. Beaten. Defiled. Because of what my father did. Did I deserve that?"

"No," Arya said.

"Then why should I show any mercy to those who condemned me to that fate?" Daenerys asked.

Arya's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Do you know why my husband stabbed your father in the back?" She glanced at Tyrion. "I wonder if your hand told you. It's an interesting story. You see...Jaime was in your father's Kingsguard so he saw him do an awful lot of burning. I can't imagine what it was like to stand by while a king massacred the innocent." Arya smiled. "Luckily for King's Landing, Jaime didn't stand by. When he found out that the Mad King had stored miles and miles of wild fire beneath the city- when he found out that he intended to set them off, killing every soul inside-he acted. He stabbed him in the back and cut his throat just to make sure he perished. He sacrificed his honor and endured years of everyone calling him King's slayer. But he didn't regret it. Because he saved the people he was meant to save. Innocents. If you intend to be queen, they should be your _first_ concern."

Arya was surprised at the fervor with which she defended Jaime. These days, when she thought of Jaime, she felt mostly grief or anger or some combination of the two. But when Daenerys had accused him of unjustly murdering her father...a different sort of anger had risen up within her, and it took everything not to spit the words at the queen. Jaime had made many mistakes in his life. But killing the Mad King was _not_ one of them.

Daenerys did not speak for a long time. Both Jon and Tyrion seemed to shift nervously where they stood and the wight's cage rattled in the silence.

"Innocents are my first concern," Daenerys said at last. "And it so happens that Tyrion did tell me about Jaime Lannister's reasons. And if he did not, you certainly made a good case for him." She tilted her head to the side. "Tell me. Can you make that same case for the fates of Elia Martell and her children?"

Arya felt a chill go through her. She knew the immediate answer. No. No she couldn't. She knew why Tywin had done it, of course, but she could not begin to justify it.

"No, your grace," she said at last. "They did not deserve to die."

Daenerys inclined her head. Then she turned and headed for the door. "I need time to consider your proposal. The dragon glass and the truce. In the meantime, you will be given rooms and food. You must be weary from your journey."

"And how long will you keep us in those rooms?" Jon asked. "Are we prisoners?"

Daenerys smiled. "No. Not yet."

Then she disappeared with a sweep of her cloak. Tyrion followed close behind, giving Arya an apologetic smile and a small bow.

"I have not had to deal with kings or queens much at the wall," Jon said when the door had closed. "How did that go?"

"It could have gone much worse," Arya said. At the very least, Daenerys was open to their plight. She believed them about the army of the dead and the creature had scared her enough to be worried. More importantly, she was aware of her father's cruelty and seemed determined not to follow in his footsteps. That was important. They would not be able to negotiate with her if she had no mercy.

Arya was unsure if this could be solved diplomatically. But considering the dragons in the sky and the quickly chilling wind...they had no choice.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Next time we'll get a more friendly conversation between Tyrion and Arya as well as some more Daenerys. I'm, of course, looking forward to it. This fic is like...my therapy from the disappointment of the show. Thanks as always for all of your very kind thoughts and compliments! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	85. Chapter 85: The Deal

_**A/N: And now our watch has ended. We have all survived Game of Thrones from the first episode to the last. And now we rest. But not really, because this FANFIC is still going! And I hope you guys enjoy a big ol' Tyrion and Arya conversation this chapter, plus some other fun things. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 85: The Deal**

Arya was given a sizeable room with a window that overlooked the cliffs of the island. When she peered through she could see the waves crashing against the rocks with enough force to break a ship in half, and if she looked out further, she could see the narrow sea stretching out for miles until it reached the sky. Daenerys Targaryen's fleet filled the space in between, along with hundreds of black and red flags flapping in the wind. It was a nice view, but it reminded Arya that she would not leave this island unless Daenerys Targaryen allowed it.

Arya was willing to wait patiently for now. She expected that the queen would not make an immediate decision. And at least this room was not as small as one of her other prisons from many years ago.

"Are your quarters suitable?" a voice from behind her asked.

Arya turned to see Tyrion hovering in the doorway, an almost nervous expression on his face. Her mouth twitched. "Well, they're nicer than a prison cell."

"I would never put you in a cell, my lady," Tyrion said. "That's no way to treat a guest."

"And that's what I am?" Arya asked. "A guest?"

"Yes," Tyrion said.

"They did take my weapons from me," Arya said. "And they haven't returned them."

"Well, the way I see it, that's a simple safety precaution," Tyrion said. "And I highly doubt they've taken all your weapons. I saw not a _single_ knife amongst those collected."

Arya raised her eyebrows innocently. "Perhaps I've given up using knives."

Tyrion let out a single laugh, shaking his head. "I see time around my father hasn't dulled your wit. I worried it might. It's been so many years now."

"You didn't tell me it was going to be many years...when you left," Arya said.

"I didn't want to worry you," Tyrion said.

"I worried anyway. You should have told me."

Tyrion shrugged, drumming his fingers against the door frame. "It all worked out in the end. I've returned."

"Yes," Arya said. "You're Hand of the Queen. Quite a title."

"And you're the future Lady of Casterly Rock," Tyrion said. "I wonder if I should be bowing to you."

"Please don't," Arya said. "I'm not the Lady yet."

"As you command, my lady," Tyrion smirked.

A smile cracked across Arya's face and she strode forward, dropping to her knees in front of Tyrion and pulling him into a hug. It was gratifying to feel him return the gesture.

"I'm glad to see you," she murmured. "Truly. You look well."

"As do you." Tyrion pulled back from her, grasping her right hand in his as he did. "Most of you. You've lost a few bits it seems."

"Only a few," Arya said. "I've grown used to it."

"You'll have to tell me the story," Tyrion said.

"And you'll have to tell me yours," Arya said.

"I suppose I will." Tyrion nodded and stepped back from her. "Walk with me, my lady. I'll show you the island, and we can exchange tales of our adventures."

Arya stood to her feet. "Are you sure I'm allowed?"

"I told you, you're not a prisoner," Tyrion said. "And even if you were to run for the docks, they're well-guarded."

"See...that sounds like a prisoner, Tyrion."

"Well..." Tyrion sighed. "Perhaps a...temporary one."

"All prisoners are temporary, Tyrion," Arya said. "They're released or they're killed. Don't play with words."

Tyrion shook his finger at her. "Ah. _That's_ a familiar phrase. My father did rub off on you a bit didn't he?"

Arya sighed. "Are we going for a walk or not?"

"Yes of course." Tyrion opened the door and waved his arm in a dramatic fashion. "After you, dearest sister."

* * *

Arya told Tyrion most everything-at least everything without major political significance. Tyrion only new the barest details of what had happened in the realm since he had left. He knew of the civil war in the North and the Riverlands, but not of how they ended. He knew of the conflict in the west and the death of Cersei, Tommen and Myrcella. He knew of the birth of Margaery's son and his father's new position as Lord Regent.

"I was sad to hear of what happened," Tyrion said. "The children...Tommen and Myrcella didn't deserve such a fate. Joffrey must have swallowed all the Lannister wickedness and left none for them. I loved them dearly. I was even sorry to hear about Cersei. For all of her wickedness, she was my sister." He shook his head. "They say the Greyjoys acted on their own but...I know the Farman problem when I see it. Cersei turned against my father didn't she?"

Arya wondered if she should try to deny it, but she knew it would be useless. "She certainly did."

"She even used my idea. I'm equal parts angry and flattered," Tyrion said. "I don't imagine father accepted that betrayal easy."

"It did take some convincing," Arya said. "Still, there's a lot more that came before what happened at the Rock, if you want to hear it."

"I do," Tyrion said. "I do _love_ an interesting story."

She started from the moment Tyrion left for Essos and worked her way through the years. Her engagement to Jaime. Her journey to the north and subsequent kidnapping by Ramsay Bolton. Her escape and the great battle which helped the Starks retake Winterfell. The weddings and the immediate fallout when the Greyjoys attacked the Western coast. The fight for Casterly Rock and aftermath.

Within the larger events-the wars and the weddings-she told him smaller things too, that only he would appreciate. She told him how she had fought with Tywin about his exile and that he did not speak to her for a year afterwards. She told him about Cersei's downward spiral and its ultimate result. She told him how Jaime had improved himself as a commander and as a fighter. But at the end of the conversation, it was something small which really stuck in Tyrion's mind.

"I cannot _believe_ you convinced him to play Cyvasse," he said with something like awe. "You really...you really persuaded my father- _my father-_ to play a _game_."

"A strategic game," Arya said.

"It's still a game. Seven hells," Tyrion shook his head. "Did you beat him?"

"Of _course_ I beat him."

"How?"

"The rabble strategy," Arya grinned.

"Brilliant. He would never think of the rabble," Tyrion laughed once. "Gods, you're a wonder, do you know that?"

"That's the most insignificant part of my story, Tyrion," Arya said. "I also jumped off a building, and almost bled to death in the snow before being saved by a pack of wolves. But it's the Cyvasse that you can't believe."

"Oh believe me, there are plenty of other incredible things in your story, my lady," Tyrion said. "It makes mine positively boring. I should have gone first."

"I apologize for that," Arya smirked.

Tyrion sighed, turning to look out across the sea. "It was brave of you to argue with my father on my behalf. Picturing the scene makes me quite happy. It wasn't a very smart thing to do, of course."

"I was angry," Arya murmured. "And...guilty."

"And why should you feel guilty?" Tyrion said, in a knowing tone of voice. "It wasn't _your_ fault, was it?"

Arya stared at him for a long time, trying to process the question before she managed a soft reply. "You knew? About..."

"I surmised it," Tyrion said. "Father wanted to turn suspicions away from you and onto an easy target. I was that easy target." He sighed. "And in the end you and Jaime gave him everything he desired. Jaime finally took a wife...and father got you as a daughter. Just as he always wanted."

"I'm...not sure that's what he wanted," Arya said.

"Yes you are. Why else would Cersei hate you so much?" Tyrion leaned over the low wall, looking up at the sky. "I don't blame you for it of course. As his children, we always wanted his approval. You might be the first of us to get it. But I'm not sure if it's much of a reward. You've suffered a great deal because of his esteem."

"I think I would have suffered regardless," Arya said. "Just in different ways."

"To be a Stark is to suffer, isn't it?" Tyrion asked.

"It seems to be our specialty," Arya said. "But we're survivors."

"Indeed you are," Tyrion agreed. High above them, a distant screech echoed in the sky. Arya looked up to see the great black dragon passing through the clouds. He was so far above them that she could have mistaken him for a hawk.

"Do you ever get used to them?" Arya asked.

"No," Tyrion said. "Certainly not."

"Well, I've told you my story." She turned, leaning back against the wall. "It's your turn, Lord Tyrion. How did you come to wear that pin again?"

Tyrion shrugged. "Well, the first year or so of my exile was uneventful. Father gave me a ship and some gold and commanded me to sail away. And thus I did. He had charged Varys to find me somewhere to hide and he found me a place in Pentos with a man called Illyrio Mopatis. He's a fabulously wealthy man, so it was an easy life I think. He is the one who gave me news of Westeros for a while and the one who told me about Daenerys Targaryen. That she was planning to cross the narrow sea and take back the iron throne with her three dragons and a large army at her back."

"And you figured she was your best ticket home," Arya said.

"Not exactly," Tyrion said. "I didn't hear of her exploits and march to her throne in Mereen to declare my loyalty. I didn't know who she was. Why should I be loyal to her? I figured she was likely a tyrant just like her father who came before her-only this time with dragons." He sighed. "That's what worried me. If she was, indeed, like her father, I knew that Westeros would suffer when she crossed to conquer them. None of my family would survive if she did-Jaime least of all." He shook his head. "I...I should have felt responsible for Westeros or what happened to it. But somehow I did. I wondered if maybe...if I could only get close to Daenerys Targaryen...I could see what kind of queen she truly was."

"If she was like her father, you would have died," Arya pointed out.

"Well, I didn't plan on giving her my _name_ until I saw for myself," Tyrion said. "I'm hardly the only dwarf in Essos."

"You might be the only dwarf in Essos with a noble Westerosi accent," Arya pointed out.

"Fair enough," Tyrion said. "In any case, I set out for Mereen with Bronn as my companion. Unfortunately, when we were stopped at a port, I was taken hostage by a rather grizzled man named Jorah Mormont. He claimed he was bringing me as a gift for the queen. I suppose he heard me mention something about my identity to Bronn."

"You should have spoken more quietly," Arya said.

"Yes, yes, I know," Tyrion said. "I didn't critique _your_ story, did I?"

Arya raised her hands. "I'm sorry. Continue."

"Thank you." Tyrion inclined his head. "From there my journey was quite eventful. We saw the ruins of old Valyria. I was almost touched by one of the stone men. Some slavers picked us up and sold us to a man who trained fighters."

"How did you convince him to buy you?" Arya asked. "Fighting has never exactly been your strong suit."

"But talking is," Tyrion pointed out. "Also I...beat one of the slavers near to death with my chain."

Arya's eyebrows shot up. "That's a good way to send a message."

"The slaver seemed entertained at least," Tyrion said. "It was pure luck that we ended up fighting in front of Daenerys Targaryen. I was able to gain an audience with her and more than that, I managed to convince her that I was worth keeping alive. It took some doing but...well who would expect a Targaryen to immediately trust a Lannister? The fact that she didn't kill me immediately was promising. I think she decided she needed an advisor with some knowledge of Westeros...and an advisor with some knowledge of the great Tywin Lannister, who would be her main opponent when she crossed." He rubbed a hand across his chest. "Somewhere along the line, she gave me this."

"You wear it with pride then," Arya said.

"I do," Tyrion said.

"So you think highly of her?"

"Yes," Tyrion said. "I won't lie to you and say that she is gentle and kind hearted. Often times she is hard and heartless. But that's what rulers must be from time to time. What I _can_ say is she is just and she wants the best for her people. She forestalled her journey to Westeros just to free as many slaves as she could. She stayed and ruled in Mereen until she could bring the city stability because she did not want to abandon them. She is not a perfect ruler and she has a great deal to learn, but she _does_ learn from her mistakes and she listens to her advisors."

"And do you see any of Aerys in her?" Arya asked.

"I never knew the Mad King," Tyrion said. "You'll have to ask my father about that. No doubt they will meet soon."

"Give me your best guess then," Arya said. "And be honest with me."

Tyrion shook his head. "She knows herself and she checks her impulses. From what I've heard, the Mad King had no such self-awareness."

"He didn't go mad until he was older, if I remember my history," Arya said.

"Well...I can only judge Daenerys on what she is now. Not what she might be," Tyrion said.

"Fair enough," Arya murmured, staring down at her hands.

A long silence fell between them, filled only with the gusting of harsh winds. Out at sea, she saw one of the dragons dive into the water and come up with a giant fish in its talons.

"You're worried. I understand," Tyrion said. "Worried for your family. Worried for Jaime as well it seems. You defended him quite eloquently to Daenerys. I'm appreciative of that."

Arya did not reply. Thinking of Jaime again made her heart clench.

"You mentioned that you returned to King's Landing while Jaime stayed in Casterly Rock," Tyrion said. "That seemed a bit strange to me. Can you tell me why?"

Arya exhaled. "Jaime...told me about Bran."

Tyrion did not respond immediately, and when Arya looked at him she could see his brow knit in concern.

"So, you knew too," Arya said. "Did anyone else?"

"I...didn't _know_ ," Tyrion said. "I guessed and I didn't have the heart to ask."

"I wish you had told me your guess much sooner," Arya said.

"And condemn my brother to death?" Tyrion said. "Surely not."

Arya's mouth twitched into a sad smile.

"Well, he's still alive. You must care a great deal for him if you allowed that," Tyrion said.

"I could never get away with killing him," Arya said absently.

"Nor do you want to," Tyrion said bluntly. Arya shot him a glare, and he smiled. "Please, Lady Arya. I'm rather good at spotting a lie, even if I _have_ been away from King's Landing for a while."

"I suppose the skill never leaves you," Arya said. "It's complicated right now. That's all."

"Most things are," Tyrion said.

Arya pushed off the wall. "Do you think there is a way that this ends with my family surviving?"

"Yes, I think so," Tyrion said.

"And Jaime?" Arya asked. "You think your queen would let him live even after he killed her father."

"She wants to distance herself from her father's legacy," Tyrion said. "There is a chance, though his position of heir to Casterly Rock might be uncertain, I think I can guarantee his life."

"And what about your father?" Arya murmured. "What are his chances?"

Tyrion's jaw clenched just slightly and he looked out to sea. "I'm...not sure."

Arya let out a single, bitter laugh. "Yes, you are."

"I'm doing what I can," Tyrion said. "He might hate me, but I'm trying to protect my family. Truly. I'm the only reason that Daenerys is considering mercy for the Lannisters at all."

"I thought you called her merciful," Arya said.

"Well, how can you expect her to think kindly on a family who so thoroughly helped destroy her own?" Tyrion asked. "Would you have ever let the Boltons live after what they did?"

Arya swallowed hard. No. She wouldn't. She understood Daenerys' motives and her hatred of Lannister. But even so...

"I'm going to do what I can," Tyrion said.

"Why would you?" Arya asked. "Why should you care what happens to him?"

"That's a very good question. I shouldn't, should I?" Tyrion said. "Maybe because he could have let Cersei execute me and he didn't? That is a poor standard to hold a father to, isn't it?"

"Very poor," Arya agreed.

The wind picked up and she shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her. The winds seemed to be getting colder and colder. Winter really was returning to Westeros.

"Come. We should get back inside before this wind blows us away," Tyrion said.

* * *

Once they reached the courtyard of Dragonstone, Arya found herself crossing paths with another familiar face-one she had expected but had still hoped not to see.

"Ah, Prince Oberyn," Tyrion said, striding forward. "We heard you might arrive today. Well met. I am the Queen's Hand."

"There are a shocking number of Lannister on Dragonstone today," Oberyn said, glancing from Tyrion to Arya. "And I don't suppose the Lady Lannister is here to bend the knee."

"You know me well," Arya said. "I wish I could say it was good to see you, Prince Oberyn."

"Ah, that's right, you two know each other," Tyrion said, clapping his hands together, looking more than a little nervous. "Lovely."

"You said you didn't need a Lannister to hand you your vengeance," Arya said. "I suppose a Targaryen is more acceptable."

"She seeks vengeance as well. And we are siblings by marriage, since my sister married her brother," Oberyn said. "It would be traitorous for the Dornish not to support the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Your ancestors would shudder to hear you say that."

"My ancestors mean nothing to me compared to my sister."

"Let's not...battle each other in the courtyard," Tyrion said cautiously. "Lady Arya came under a banner of peace."

"Neither of us has drawn weapons," Oberyn said. "And I assure you, the Lady Arya can take care of herself." He smirked slightly. "None the less, I mean her no disrespect or harm."

"For now at least," Arya said.

"Yes. For now," Oberyn said. "But this cannot come as a surprise to you."

"It doesn't," Arya said. "Believe me. I don't blame you for backing the dragon queen. If I was in your place I would do the same."

Oberyn inclined his head. "As I said...no future conflict between our houses is personal where you are concerned."

"I know," Arya said. She looked to Tyrion. "I can see myself back to my room if you have other business to attend to."

"Yes, thank you. You remember the way?"

Arya nodded, and started toward the great doors of the keep. But she stopped halfway there to glance back. "Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Lady Arya?"

"I hope that any conflict will stay impersonal between us," Arya said. "But if you hurt any of my family...I will make it very personal."

A sharp smirk crossed Oberyn's face. "I would expect nothing less from you."

* * *

Arya knew better than to be surprised by Oberyn's presence. She knew better than to feel angry as well. If her sister had been brutally murdered, she would do whatever she could to make sure the people responsible were brought to justice.

Still, the Dornish joining the Targaryen cause only made their own victory much less likely. And could the Dornish be convinced to help against the army of the dead, or at the very least, agree to a truce? They might demand their vengeance first, in exchange for their assistance.

Arya was deep in thoughts of this very problem when she reentered her room-and she was shocked to find others waiting for her there.

"Lady Arya."

She recognized the voice and the accent at the same time and was shocked as Shae rushed forward to embrace her.

"Shae," she gasped out. "You're here."

"Of course I am. Do you think I would let that silly lion leave me behind?" Shae pulled back to look at her, stroking her fingers through Arya's dark hair. "You actually let your hair grow."

"Just for you," Arya said with a weak smile. She registered the other two presences in the room as well. Ser Bronn and Podrick. It seemed they had both kept close to Tyrion. She was glad he hadn't been alone in Essos. "Ser Bronn. Podrick."

"Been awhile, m'lady," Bronn said, inclining his head. "Your hair's grown but you haven't."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "And fancy living hasn't improved your manners."

"Course not. Nothing can," Bronn said. "Maybe if I get a castle when this all over I learn to act like a fancy lord."

"Don't. It can be very taxing," Arya said. She looked to Podrick. He had grown quite a bit taller and he looked more like a man than a nervous boy now. "I'm glad to see you've stuck with Lord Tyrion. How are you?"

"Well, my lady," Podrick said. "Sorry to disturb you. We heard Tyrion was with you so we thought we might meet him here."

"That's a lie," Shae said, taking her hands. "We all wanted to see you after all this time. Even Ser Bronn was curious."

"Aye. I'm curious about lots of things," Bronn said dismissively.

"I'm glad to see you. All of you." Arya smiled at them. "In the midst of everything else, this is actually a welcome surprise."

Bronn laughed once. "You must be livin' a hard life if my face is welcome at all."

"Yes." Arya said, raising her mangled right hand and wiggling her fingers. "You could say that."

The rest of the day was pleasant for Arya. She convinced Bronn to temporarily lend her a sword so she could spar with him, just for a bit of practice, and she caught him by surprise when she drew a knife halfway through and held it to his throat. There was nothing the sell sword respected more than dirty tricks. Podrick had gotten much better with a sword as well, and more confident. It was nice to have some activity again.

After they left to find Tyrion, Shae insisted on styling her hair a bit since she never got the chance to do so before. They talked about the places they had been and the people they had seen. Shae was a great observer of people and she had many fascinating tales from her time in Essos.

The next few days, Arya did what she could to amuse herself and tried not to let her worries get the best of her. She spent time with Jon, with Shae, with Tyrion whenever he wasn't busy (which was not very often). Until one day, Jon knocked on her door, his face looking grim.

"What happened?" Arya asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Jon said. "But the dragon queen has summoned us again."

* * *

Daenerys did not summon them to her throne room but rather to a different, much smaller space. In the center was a splendid table, carved into the shape of the seven kingdoms. Arya had never seen such an intricate, magnificent map in her entire life and her eyes widened at the sight.

"My ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, had this made," Daenerys said from the other end of the table. "They say this is where the conquest truly began. With this table. He and his sisters spent an awful lot of time in this room planning their future. And within a few years, they had united the kingdoms for the first time. No one had achieved what they did. Not in thousands of years."

"I suppose it didn't hurt that they had three dragons," Arya said.

Daenerys' mouth quirked. "You know that if I wanted to I could ride out with my armies tonight and conquer the kingdoms just as Aegon did. He had an even smaller army than I do now. But he turned many a family to ash and melted their castles to ruins."

Arya did not reply and she did not lift her chin. She stared Daenerys Targaryen down, her lip just slightly curled. "I've read the stories."

Daenerys held her gaze for a moment before she continued. "But I am not here to be queen of the ashes. And if I intend to rule this country I must also be willing to protect it from any threats that might come from beyond the wall. I offer you Dragonglass, as a token. But I can offer you my help as well." Her gaze hardened again. "If...the lords of Westeros bend the knee."

There it was. Good news and bad news in equal parts. Arya glanced at Tyrion and she simply gave her a nod of encouragement. _Accept the offer,_ he seemed to say. _You know that it's the only way._

Arya knew better than to reject the offer outright, but neither could she accept it. "I'm afraid I cannot speak for the lords of Westeros or what they will do. I have no authority over them. But...I can deliver your message to the Lord Regent and arrange a meeting between you and the major families of each region, if you wish to make your case."

Daenerys nodded once. She seemed to find this acceptable. "You can sail as early as tomorrow morning. I'll return your ship and your weapons and you may go on your way. I'll expect a letter within a moon's turn or else I will assume that you have rejected my offer."

"You'll have your letter," Arya said. "I trust that if I deliver it with the miners, they will be allowed to begin collecting Dragonglass?"

"Yes."

"Good. A peaceful meeting in exchange for our resources seems a fair trade."

"I agree. It could mean many lives spared," Daenerys looked to Jon. "Does the Night King's army have much capability with archery?"

"Archery?" Jon's brow furrowed. "I...have never seen a wight or white walker fire a bow. The white walkers carried swords and spears of ice. But some of them could have bows and arrows."

"It should not matter. Only one dragon in history has been felled by an archer and it was one shot in a million," Daenerys said. "If we keep high enough, it should not be an issue."

"What shouldn't be an issue?" Jon asked.

"I wish to see this army of the dead," Daenerys said. "To know if the threat is truly as great as you say. Forgive me for not trusting you fully, but if you speak the truth, it should not be a problem to show me."

"I...can try. I'm not sure how your dragons will deal with the northern conditions," Jon said.

"We will cross that bridge when we come to it," Daenerys said. "Do we have a deal, Jon Snow?"

Jon nodded. "Yes."

"Good," Daenerys said. She looked back to Arya. "I wish you a safe journey back to King's Landing, Lady Arya. Give Tywin Lannister my regards."

"Of course, your grace," Arya said, holding her gaze. "And, if you see him, give my regards to the Night King."

* * *

 _ **A/N: So Daenerys is at least listening and treating the northern threat like a northern threat. And before anyone berates her for being stupid by flying a dragon over the army of the dead, remember that all historical knowledge would point to the dragons being safe from foot soldiers. At least its not as dumb as the suicide squad.**_

 _ **Regardless, next time, Tywin is back and Jaime is back, so I hope you enjoy both of them. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	86. Chapter 86: Uncertainty

_**A/N: Happy Thursday everyone! Got another long chapter for you. All of the chapters have been longer lately. I'm on a roll I suppose. In other news, someone put this fic on a top 15 Game of thrones fanfics to read now that the show is over article on Buzzfeed, so that's surreal as fuck. But very exciting as well. Hope you all enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 86: Uncertainty**

Months had past, and Jaime was beginning to feel more like a man again. In the initial aftermath of the confrontation in Casterly Rock, he had felt like more of a shadow, cut away from his body, drifting about the halls of his childhood. This time, however, he was alone. No Cersei. No Tyrion. No mother or father. Just Jaime. Or at least a shade of what he once was.

It had felt, at first, like when he lost his right hand. That hand had been a part of his very being, and when they chopped it off, it felt like an execution. Cersei, likewise, had been a part of him since birth, and now she was gone. So were all of his children. And Arya...well she wasn't gone from the world but she was certainly gone from him.

It was tempting to stay a shadow-wandering from room to room, letting Kevan handle all of the affairs of Casterly Rock while he wallowed in self-pity.

And yet, his uncle's words lingered in his head.

" _I suppose you have nothing to lose."_

Jaime was at the very bottom of a great chasm, where barely any light reached him. And yet...he could not get any lower. Not even if he tried. In the worst case scenario, he would stay at the bottom. But otherwise...he might just start to climb.

So he began to rule the Rock. He started with something he knew and understood-clearing out the remainder of the Greyjoy forces. Their leader was dead, but raiding parties still attacked villages along the coast. Naturally, in order to pursue the raiders in any fashion, they would need more ships, and the Lannister navy was in desperate of repair. He dipped into funds from the treasury to fund the reconstruction, though he encouraged other houses which were not harmed by Greyjoy attacks to assist their ally in their time of need. After all, if the houses inland expected protection from the Farmans, it was only right that they contribute to the cause. It paid a debt.

It was fortunate that Jaime did not take on the full brunt of the expenses, because it was while procuring the funds that he discovered a problem his father had been keeping him-the mines of Casterly Rock. They were dry and had been dry for the past few years, not producing a single ounce of gold. The wealth of the Rock was still impressive, and more than one house was indebted to them. But they were not producing more of the gold that they were famous for.

"How could he keep this a secret for this long?" Jaime asked Kevan one day as he paced from wall to wall of his office. "He never said a word of it. Did you know?"

"Yes," Kevan said. "I might be the only one who did. Your father, more often than not, likes to try to solve problems like this on his own."

"I'm not sure how he plans to make the mines produce gold again," Jaime said. "Even he has his limits."

It wasn't an issue that Jaime had time to focus on. He had to stabilize the west first. Unfortunately, despite the story that the Greyjoys had started this war unprompted, the rumors had begun to spread of Cersei's involvement. It painted a weak picture of a Lannister family that squabbled and fought and let the rest of the West burn with them. The small folk in particular were restless, as they were the ones who had suffered the most at the hands of the Greyjoys, while most of the lords had stayed safe in the walls of their castles. It would be easy for the smallfolk to blame the Lannisters, and with Tywin in the capital, they would be more willing to make trouble.

So Jaime made sure to handle the situation. He provided aid to the villages which had been hit the worst by the raiders, including soldiers and a small amount of money to help them rebuild. He allowed those close to the woods access to resources for a limited time until they were deemed recovered by one of Jaime's men, whereupon the original restrictions would be reinstated. It wasn't charity. Only paying a debt. And it showed immediate results. The smallfolk quickly began to calm and return to life as usual.

Soon after, the Farmans found the source of the Greyjoy raiders and with a swift attack in the night, Lannister and Farman troops were able to root them out entirely. In the following days, the attacks ceased and the West was once again at peace.

The success was almost surreal to Jaime. He had grown so used to failure, he did not expect any of his ventures to work. And yet they did. His uncle seemed proud of him and Jaime felt some happiness for the first time in many moons.

Then, of course, the letter came from his father.

Jaime was expecting some sort of lecture about his methods of ruling, but what he got was much more troubling. The dragon queen was coming to Westeros with Tyrion as her hand. Worse than that, Jon Snow had arrived in the capital, speaking of an army of dead men and white walkers marching on the wall. It took Jaime an awfully long time to absorb the words when he received the letter. Which was worse? The daughter of the Mad King who he had stabbed in the back, or an army of undead seeking to destroy the whole of the continent? Fire or Ice? Jaime really wasn't sure.

But he knew he had to go to King's Landing, so, leaving Kevan in charge, he gathered some of his best men and road with all haste for the capital.

King's Landing was an oddly welcome sight after all of this time. At least, it was a place where no one looked to Jaime to have the answers. Here, that honor belonged to his father, and he hoped that Tywin would have many answers that explained the letter he sent.

No sooner had Jaime swung off his horse, he went straight away to the office of the Hand. As usual, Tywin was sitting at his desk, writing. Jaime wondered sometimes if everything he wrote was of importance. Then again, this was an extremely complicated era, so Jaime imagined that there was barely _enough_ time to write.

He waited patiently until his father set down his quill and looked up. "You've arrived earlier than expected. That's unusual for you."

"Your letter did seem urgent," Jaime said. "Understand, when I saw you write about dragons and dead men in the same breath, I was concerned for your health."

"I can assure you, I am not going mad in my old age," Tywin said. "Jon Snow brought irrefutable proof to the court. He was wise enough to know that he wouldn't be taken at his word on this matter and he came prepared."

"Ah yes. Jon Snow," Jaime said. "There is something very familiar about that boy. At first I thought he had Ned Stark's look but...it's something else I can't quite put my finger on."

"I've noticed the same," Tywin said. "Especially when he was speaking before the court. But I didn't have time to think much on it before he released a walking corpse into the hall."

"Perhaps I'll speak with him without the walking corpse around and see if I can figure it out," Jaime said. "Is he here now?"

"No. I sent him to Dragonstone to speak with Daenerys Targaryen," Tywin said. "Along with Arya."

"You sent..." Jaime shook his head. "You sent _Arya_ to meet with the mad queen's daughter? Are you mad? What if she-"

"She won't. Calm down," Tywin said. "The Targaryen girl didn't roast your brother on site because of his name. She made him her hand instead. I assume that Arya will be able to survive the encounter."

Jaime rubbed his hand across the place where his wrist joined his golden hand. "So, its true then. Tyrion is Hand of the Queen."

"That is how he signed his letter," Tywin said. The irritation in his father's voice was unmistakable, but Jaime didn't blame him. Of course, Tyrion _must_ know what bringing a Targaryen queen would mean for the Lannister name. Did his brother think that Daenerys Targaryen would forgive Jaime for the murder of her father? Or did he, perhaps, not care?

Jaime had always loved Tyrion well-more than the rest of their family. But Jaime always received everything while Tyrion was left with nothing but scraps. Could he blame his brother if the jealousy had begun to take root? Or perhaps he was only thinking of getting revenge on their father and had not thought about how the ensuing conflict might harm Jaime.

 _No. Tyrion thinks things through. And he wouldn't sacrifice me,_ Jaime thought. _There's more to this than meets the eye._

"Well...Tyrion always liked Arya, so I suppose her chances of survival are good," Jaime said at last, sinking into a chair. "I'm not so sure about our family as a whole. It's unlikely we survive the dragons and somehow even less likely that we survive an army of white walkers."

His father did not argue the point. He seemed to agree.

"And even if we do survive both and somehow maintain our grip on Casterly Rock, what will it matter?" Jaime asked. "Considering the mines haven't produced any gold for the past three years."

Tywin exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Why didn't you tell me about the gold problem sooner?" Jaime asked. "None of us had any idea."

"I intended to tell you," Tywin said. "When you _and_ Arya assumed control of the Rock. Obviously, things did not go as planned."

"Well, I discovered it," Jaime said. "While I was trying to find funds to repair the Farman's fleets. We still have a great deal of wealth in our vaults, but we are not producing new gold which means our wealth continues to drop every year."

"It does," Tywin said. "It's a problem I would have had more time to solve if not for the constant wars of the past six years."

"You could have told me sooner and I could have helped with solving it," Jaime said.

"You weren't showing much promise with ruling until recently," Tywin said.

Jaime opened his mouth to protest until he realized what his father had said. "Until recently?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "You've been managing the Rock quite well these past few months, and you've kept the west stable. You've done much better than expected."

Such blunt words of approval from his father were almost too much to handle and Jaime was suddenly glad he was sitting down. His father spoke casually, as if they were nothing of importance, but Tywin Lannister had _never_ spoken so highly of Jaime's efforts.

 _Have I ever exceeded expectations in my life,_ Jaime thought. _Gods, is this what it feels like?_

"If we survive the last of these wars, the gold will become our primary concern," Tywin continued on, as if he did not even notice Jaime's stunned expression. "There are many possible solutions. There could be other untapped mines that we have not yet discovered, and perhaps there are investments to be made in trade. But if the family does not survive, it will not ultimately matter. _"_

Jaime nodded once. "I suppose that's true."

"In the case that it _does_ matter," Tywin said. "There are still some things that you need to fix, if you are serious about your commitment to this family."

Jaime exhaled, looking down at his hands. "I'm...not sure _she_ wants to fix those things."

"You're still alive, aren't you?" Tywin asked.

Jaime's mouth twitched. Yes. Somehow, he was still alive. He stood from his seat. "Well, I suppose when she returns, we'll see if she corrects that or not." He turned to go, but stopped as he opened the door. "Father...in your letter you said Brandon Stark came to King's Landing as well."

"Yes," Tywin said.

"Is he still here?" Jaime asked. "Or did he go with his siblings?"

"He's still here," Tywin said.

Jaime nodded once, his left hand suddenly feeling a bit clammy. "I see. Thank you."

Then, before his father could question him any further, he slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't need any questions. If he wanted to even begin fixing things with Arya, he knew where he had to start.

* * *

When Jaime arrived at Bran Stark's room, the door was cracked open. Jaime carefully nudged it open with his hand and found that the boy already had a visitor-Varys. The spider. Jaime wondered what on earth the Master of Whispers wanted with Bran Stark. Perhaps he had taken an interest in what the boy had seen beyond the wall, or maybe he had some other game. Still, where ever Varys moved, he left some of his tangled web behind.

"Ser Jaime," Varys straightened and gave him a bow. "I'm glad to see you return safely to the castle. Reports from the West have been quite favorable."

"Have they?" Jaime asked. "I'm happy your little birds approve of my methods."

Varys smiled. "Oh, they simply report what they see. I'm the one who decides if what they say is worth approval." He turned back to Bran and gave him a nod. "I hope we may speak again soon."

"We will," Bran said simply. "Thank you, Lord Varys."

With that, Varys excused himself and Jaime stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him.

"It's...been quite some time," Jaime said. "You seem well, despite your journey in the north."

"I'm not sure if I'm well," Bran said. "But I'm not in poor condition either."

He spoke in such a flat tone, almost as if he was bored of the conversation...or maybe thinking about something else. He had a very distant look in his eyes.

"What did Varys want with you?" Jaime asked after a pause.

"He wanted to give me something," Bran said, holding up a long object. It took Jaime a moment to identify it as a knife. And not just any knife. It's hilt was carved from dragon bone and when Bran drew it...yes that was valyrian steel.

"Why would he give you a dagger?" Jaime asked.

"It was meant to kill me after I survived my fall," Bran said. "It was in Lord Baelish possession for some time, but he's long dead now. Varys procured the dagger instead and offered it to me."

"Ah...I see," Jaime said. He wondered who might have sent the assassin after Bran. He certainly hadn't. Could it have been Cersei? Or perhaps Littlefinger himself, trying to start a war. It didn't matter. He hadn't come to answer for the dagger but what came before. "Brandon...regarding your fall. There's something-"

"I know," Bran said. "You're the one who pushed me."

He said it so casually, as if it was of absolutely no consequence to him. Jaime did not know how to even respond for several long seconds. "I...you've regained your memory then?"

"My memory and the world's memory," Bran said. "I can recall everything now, from thousands of years ago to yesterday. I've seen Aegon's conquest and the Mad King's fall. And I've seen you shove me from a tower window."

 _How do I respond to that,_ Jaime thought. _Has the boy gone mad?_

"I haven't gone mad," Bran said calmly. "I've become the Three Eyed Raven."

"I'm not sure what that means," Jaime said.

"It means that I went beyond the wall and found the old Three Eyed Raven in an ancient weirwood tree," Bran said. "He taught me how to use my abilities and control my visions. And at the end, he gave me his eyes so that I might help defeat the Night King."

"So you...see the past now?" Jaime asked. "All of the past."

"Yes," Bran said. "Though some moments stick out more than others."

"Well...I only came here to talk about one moment...and to offer my apologies," Jaime said. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. When I shoved you from that window, I meant to kill you, but instead I took away your legs. It was a cruel thing to do to a child and...you would be in your rights to demand justice for it."

Bran shook his head. "It doesn't really matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Jaime's eyebrows shot up.

"No. It was necessary to set me on the path to becoming what I am now," Bran said. "Sometimes the worst moments of our lives are necessary. We just can't see it in the moment." He tilted his head to the side. "Like you when you killed the Mad King. He was calling for the whole city to burn. Screaming for the deaths of half a million souls in King's Landing. So you drove your sword into his back. Even though you knew you might be punished and you might be branded an oath breaker. You killed him anyway. And that set us all on this path."

Jaime shivered. He had never had anyone stare so deep into his soul and read it back to him in such a calm voice. The boy was not lying about his memories. Jaime had told that story to Tyrion and Cersei and Arya, but no one else. If Bran knew, his powers must be true.

"I'm not sure about the paths you talk about," Jaime said slowly. "But whether you intend to seek justice or not, that doesn't absolve me from what I did." He knelt at the foot of Bran's wheel chair. "If you are ever in need of anything, no matter what it is, I will do my best to help you as payment for what I did. I am in your debt until you release me from it. And a Lannister always pays his debts."

Bran seemed to consider the proposal before he nodded once. "Thank you, Ser Jaime. I will remember it."

 _No doubt you will. Along with every other moment in our violent history,_ Jaime thought. Bran said that his fall was necessary to bring him to this point, but somehow that did not absolve Jaime of his guilt. The life of the Three Eyed Raven seemed like more of a burden than a blessing.

* * *

Arya was relieved when she stepped back onto the King's Landing docks. Though Daenerys Targaryen had not expressed any desire to kill her, she had half expected one of the dragons to pursue her little ship and light it on fire before she reached the red keep again. Thankfully, her worst fears were incorrect this time around.

She wished that would happen more often.

Of course, that did not mean she had time to relax. She knew that she had to present Daenerys Targaryen's offer to Tywin, along with every other small bit of information she had gleaned from her visit. They didn't have much time to prepare and every second counted.

She made her way up the docks and into the red keep, fidgeting with the pommel of Winter's Fury all the way. It felt good to have it by her side again. The weight was comforting at her hip and she had grown quite used to having it. How nice it was that she no longer had to pretend to be an ordinary lady when she walked the halls of the castle. At this point, anyone with eyes and ears knew that she could fight for herself. She still gained a few stares and whispers but Arya had grown used to that as well.

Then, halfway to Tywin's office, she rounded the corner and found herself face to face with Jaime.

She had not been expecting to see him and she took a surprised step back. He mirrored her, his face paling a bit. "Arya...you've returned."

"Yes," Arya managed. "So have you."

It had been several months since they had seen each other. In fact, it had been the longest she had ever gone without seeing him since Tywin took her as a ward. He had let his golden hair grow out a bit again and he looked...well, he looked strong. Stronger than when she had left him.

"I'm glad to see you back safely," Jaime said after a long pause. "When I heard you had gone to Dragonstone, I worried."

"Really." Arya smoothed down her tunic. "The seas were kind enough."

"And the dragons? How kind were they?" Jaime asked.

"I'm not eaten or burned, so it could have gone much worse," Arya said.

Jaime nodded once, glancing away from her. They were closer than they had been for months yet there was an uncomfortable distance between them that neither knew how to close.

"I...hear that you've handled the Rock well," Arya said at last.

"Really?" Jaime asked. "Who told you?"

"Varys. I asked him for reports." Arya shook her head. "On...the general state of the west. I felt a bit responsible for all that happened and...I just wanted to see how everything was."

"I see. I'm glad he could keep you informed," Jaime said.

Arya nodded once, shifting from foot to foot. "Well I...I should speak with your father as soon as possible. My apologies."

"Of course. Yes. Mustn't keep him waiting," Jaime stepped to the side to allow her past and Arya hurried on down the hall.

 _Don't turn around,_ she thought. _Don't say anything else._

But she ignored her own thoughts and stopped to look back at him. "You look..." Her jaw clenched and she cursed herself for even talking. "I'm glad to see you well."

Jaime gave her the smallest smile and a nod. "And you, my lady."

* * *

Tywin was studying a map of Westeros, alternating between contemplating the war with Daenerys Targaryen and the war with the dead. This had been his practice for the past moon-studying unwinnable scenarios to see if he had missed some key information that might seal their victory.

He had thought, of course, of dishonorable ways to win this war-as if all war was not dishonorable. A faceless man had been his first inclination, but Varys had told him that the price they would demand for Daenerys' life was enough to buy every soldier in the Golden Company. And such a price would only set her dragons loose on the country.

Naturally, Tywin had thought of buying the Golden Company, but they did not truly have the funds for that. The crown was too much in debt to the iron bank already. And in any case, by the time the Golden Company set foot on Westerosi shores, Daenerys could have burnt half the castles in Westeros to the grounds. Not to mention, the Golden Company was originally created by a Targaryen bastard, and there were many Targaryen loyalists amongst them. He would not risk bringing more supporters to the dragon queen.

Any other traps or treachery would have little chance of working. Tywin had, many years ago, made plans to end Robb Stark and his followers during a wedding at the Twins. The plans were not ultimately necessary, but Tywin was sure they would have worked. After all, so few people expected anyone to break a sacred law, even someone as detestable as Walder Frey. But Daenerys Targaryen...she would expect treachery from him. Why shouldn't she? If she knew nothing else about him, she would know the story of the day he arrived outside of King's Landing with an army, promising to defend her father, only to order his men to sack the city the moment the gates opened.

Treachery was not going to work. She would be too on guard for that. Diplomacy really was the best chance they had at surviving this mess.

The door opened and he looked up to see Arya standing in the doorway. It was almost a surprise to see her alive and unharmed. Not that he really believed the dragon queen would kill an envoy of the crown but...Arya did have such a talent for brushing too close with death.

"I'm back," she said.

"So I see," Tywin said. "And?"

She sighed, closing the door behind her. "I have good and bad news."

"At least there's good news," Tywin said, straightening. "Tell me."

"You were right about the strength of her armies and her dragons," Arya said. "She has a sizeable navy, thousands of Dothraki and unsullied, and the Dornish have already given her their support. As for the dragons...they live up to their stories."

Tywin nodded once. "And the negotiations?"

"Daenerys Targaryen saw the wight and believed Jon's tale," Arya said. "She has some doubt about the size of the threat since we only brought a single soldier to her, but she has resolved to fly to the north to verify the truth with her own eyes. She will also allow us to mine dragon glass from Dragonstone so that we may forge it into weapons."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "In exchange for what?"

"A meeting with the major lords and ladies of Westeros." Arya pulled the fingers on her right hand and Tywin could sense the bad news coming. That was becoming a more frequent tell of hers. "She offered her help in the war against the dead, but only if we all bow to her as the true queen of Westeros. I obviously told her that I could not speak for any of the lords but said that I would arrange a meeting where she could make her case. She seemed to find that acceptable."

Tywin nodded once. "Good."

"Good?" Arya asked. "I thought you wouldn't be happy about that."

"I'm not happy, but this is an ideal situation," Tywin said. "You brought her to the table at least. It gives us a chance to negotiate, especially since you made her no strong promises one way or another."

"What if she makes her case well and the other lords bend?" Arya asked.

"The only lords who bend will be those we already suspected of being on her side," Tywin said, returning to his desk. "The others-the north, the reach, the Riverlands, the Stormlands-none of them will be so eager to give this queen what she wants. Not easily."

Arya nodded once, her brow still knit with concern. "If she...did take power...She won't be quick to forgive you or Jaime. Tyrion believes there's a good chance that Daenerys would pardon Jaime for what he did, considering what the Mad King was. But even if she lets him live..." she trailed off.

"Even if she lets him live, it's unlikely she would extend the same mercy to me," Tywin said. "And Jaime might keep his life, but not his position. She cannot be seen as too lenient with us. It will show weakness."

"So...what then?" Arya asked. "How exactly do we win this? I've been thinking about it every hour of every day and I can't..."

She was looking at him in such a peculiar way, worried and hopeful all at the same time. She seemed to hope that he might pull some brilliant plan from nothing that would guarantee their victory. But she knew as well as him that the odds were stacked against them. She simply hadn't accepted it.

"There may be a way to keep the Lannister legacy secure," Tywin said. "And it will hinge heavily on Daenerys Targaryen's desired meeting. Leave me to handle it."

"I can help," Arya said. "Whatever it is."

"You already have. You brought her to the table. That's enough," Tywin said. "Let me take it from here."

She was clearly reluctant to allow that. At one time, many years ago, Arya never would have been so insistent on helping him. She used to assist his family by chance or accident. Or because helping him happened to help the Starks. Now she had a vested interest in what happened to the Lannisters. When had that changed, he wondered.

Arya opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated and closed it again. Tywin raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It's just...about Tyrion..."

Tywin exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I know what you think," Arya said. "That he became Daenerys hand to get revenge on you for exiling him and blaming him for something he didn't do. I thought the same thing at first."

"What other reason would he have?" Tywin said.

"Daenerys was going to come west with or without him," Arya said. "Tyrion was worried what would happen to his family if she did. Especially Jaime. He wanted to minimize the damage if he could." She paused for a moment, and Tywin caught her chin lifting ever so slightly. "Despite everything, he's still a Lannister."

Tywin did not want to think too much on Tyrion or his motives, nor did he want to have this conversation with Arya. He knew that Daenerys would cross the narrow sea regardless of Tyrion but...it was quite hard to believe that Tyrion would work to help the family after everything that had happened.

"Write to Daenerys Targaryen," he said at last. "Tell her that the lords of Westeros will meet in a moon's turn at the Dragon Pit, and arrange for men to go to Dragonstone to mine the dragon glass. I'll manage the rest."

Arya nodded once, hesitating for only a moment before she hurried from the room.

Tywin exhaled and leaned back in his chair. He had considered every option at this point. Every path, honorable or otherwise, and nearly all had a slim to none chance of success. It was a high stakes play in every instance, because failure would mean the sure destruction of the legacy he had worked so hard to build.

But there was one possible way that they could succeed, and it hinged on the meeting in the Dragon pit.

Tywin sat forward again, dipping his quill in ink and beginning a new letter to Robb Stark. He would write such a letter to all of the major lords that day, bidding them come to King's Landing to discuss the future of the realm.

And in a moon's turn, the way forward would be decided.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Next chapter, I'm going to have to write a monster conversation that is the dragon pit meeting so wish me luck, cause its going to be SO MANY CHARACTERS. With any luck, I shall survive. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter though. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	87. Chapter 87: A Clash of Wills

_**A/N: And we're back. With what I think might be the longest chapter I've ever posted. It's a fucking whopper but I didn't want to break up the Dragonpit conversations so here we are. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 87: A Clash of Wills**

Since Arya first road south to King's Landing nearly seven years ago, she had seen three wars and many hardships in between them. She had lost people she cared for. She had lost two of her fingers. And at her lowest points, she feared she might lose herself. She had endured it all, and for the most part she had managed to keep her family alive and intact. But now she was approaching a crossroads. She knew in her heart that the meeting at the Dragon Pit would determine the future of Westeros. It would determine whether she would lose everything she had fought so hard to keep or survive to see the true spring.

Snow came to King's Landing as she waited for the dreaded event. Arya remembered Bran's warning about a false spring as she watched the flakes fall. He had known all along that the peace would be temporary and would only give way to greater conflict. Arya supposed that she had always known it too. The crisp wind would have been a comfort to her if it did not warn of the threat to the north, but instead it felt like an ill omen.

Tywin was as troubled as she was, spending nearly hour he had in his office. But his principal concern was Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. He asked Arya about the woman often, gleaning as much information as he could. She tried to remember even the smallest details and she offered them up freely.

"She has a lot titles, but she ends them all with 'mother of dragons'. It's clearly the one she's most proud of," Arya told him one day.

"Unsurprisingly. No one else living can claim to be a mother of dragons. No one else can claim to have dragons at all," Tywin said. "Do you remember her other titles?"

"Not all of them," Arya said. "Several about being the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms. The unburnt... If I have my story right, she walked onto a pyre with her dragons and came out unharmed." She drummed her fingers against the tables. "Oh. Breaker of Chains. She put that one right before 'mother of dragons'."

"Because she likes to think of herself as a hero, no doubt," Tywin said. "That's not unique to her. Many monarchs have fashioned themselves as saviors, and more than one Targaryen has fancied themselves the subject of a prophesy." He rubbed his chin. "That's fine. I can use that."

"Use that for what?" Arya asked. "What exactly _is_ your plan?"

"That's perhaps the tenth time you've asked that question."

"And you have yet to answer it."

"Then you would think you would learn from experience and stop asking."

Arya let out a frustrated breath. His answer was always some variation of 'I'm not telling you'. She wondered if it was because he did not really have a plan but did not wish to admit it. Or perhaps his plan was something sinister and he did not want to implicate her if it happened to go wrong. Whatever the case, it irritated Arya to be shut out of his plots. This meeting didn't just concern him, after all. It concerned everyone in Westeros.

Still, no matter how she rephrased the question, he never changed his answer, and she was left in the dark. Arya wished, more than once, that she had someone to whom she could complain. But Jon had not returned from his quest north with Daenerys and Syrio always told her to leave her troubles at the door. Margaery was busy holding court, calming the people of King's Landing and caring for her baby. Bran...well he seemed too distant to speak of anything. He spent most of his time with his eyes rolled back in his head. When Arya asked him what he doing he simply said 'planning'.

 _Wonderful. Planning,_ Arya thought. _Lord Tywin plans to deal with the dragons, Bran with the dead men and neither of them tells me a thing._

There was Jaime of course, but Arya had no idea to approach him or speak to him at all. He was staying well away from her as well, either out of respect or fear, and part of Arya was glad for it. But another part of her wished she could speak to him like before. Before she found out the truth. Before...

Arya tried not to think of it, and she tried to endure her thoughts alone.

Then, at last, her family arrived in King's Landing. Sansa arrived first, along with Willas and Olenna Tyrell. When Arya saw her sister in the courtyard, she all but flew at her and wrapped her in a tight hug. She had not seen her since the wedding nearly a year ago.

"Arya," Sansa said breathlessly. "It's good to see you too, but do you mean to crush me?"

"No. I'm sorry." Arya pulled back, grasping her sister's hand. "I'm just...I'm glad you're here. There's a lot I wanted to speak about."

"I think we all have a lot to speak about now that _dragons_ are filling the skies again," Olenna said with a note of irritation in her voice. "Writers fall over themselves to speak of the majesty of dragons but I could have gladly gone my life without seeing one."

"I suppose they're only nice to look at when they're on your side," Arya said. "It's good to see you again, Lady Tyrell."

"Oh, it hasn't been that long," Olenna waved her hand dismissively. "I was here not a few months ago for Steffon's birth."

"Maybe. But we'll be glad to have you at the Dragonpit," Arya said.

"I'm not about to let anyone take my granddaughter or my great grandson from that ugly iron chair," Olenna said. "Not even the last Targaryen."

"When Lord Tywin wrote, he said that the dragon queen's plans for Margaery and her son were unclear," Willas said as he handed off his horse. "And even if we were to bend the knee, what if Daenerys Targaryen sees them both as a threat? Whatever her armies, High Garden will protect my sister."

 _What Tywin wrote,_ Arya thought. He had written an awful lot of letters. She could not help but wonder what he had written in each one. If she could read them all perhaps she would have some inkling of his plans. It was unfortunate that she did not have Varys' network of spies.

Once Arya was alone with Sansa, she pressed her for the details. "What else did Tywin write?" she asked. "Do you remember?"

"Not word for word," Sansa said. "He did remind Lady Olenna that the Tyrells would be in an ideal position to negotiate. Winter is falling again and the Reach has the most resources. If Daenerys were to set fire to the fields she would doom the country to starvation, and a starving people act out." She sighed. "I remember that point because Olenna snapped 'as if I need him to remind me'."

"Right," Arya murmured. That was maddeningly unhelpful.

"Why are you so concerned about the letter?" Sansa asked.

"Because I have no idea what Tywin's play is. He won't tell me," Arya said. "I'm sure he's come up with something but I don't like the uncertainty."

"Lord Tywin lived through one rebellion against the dragons," Sansa said. "He no doubt has something in mind."

"I'm sure he does. I just want to know what it is," Arya muttered.

Sansa laughed once. "You need to learn to leave things to other people on occasion, Arya."

"I can. On occasion. This is not that occasion," Arya said.

"Of course not," Sansa said. "I hope you've had some time to rest in between all of these wars. I was worried about you when I heard about the conflict in the west."

Arya looked down at her hands. "Yes...that went...much worse than intended."

"You were with the King when he died, weren't you?" Sansa asked.

Arya nodded once.

"I'm sorry," Sansa rested a hand on Arya's arm. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

"No. Cersei was to blame for Tommen and Myrcella," Arya said. "I still wished I could have stopped it."

"Cersei," Sansa looked out the window. "I...hear that she's dead."

"Yes," Arya said. "She's dead."

"I can't say that I'm sad to hear that," Sansa said. "I wanted to be like her once, when I was young a naïve and did not realize how much she was rotting inside."

"I remember. You idolized her," Arya said. "I suppose that came to a sudden stop after father."

"Yes," Sansa said. "A very sudden stop."

"It's been so long since that day," Arya said. "Sometimes...I find it hard to recall father's face and I hate myself for it. It fades little by little every year."

"His face blurs, but I'll never forget the day itself," Sansa said. "Not as long as I live. I'll always remember the sound of the crowd, and the arms of the knight holding me back, and Joffrey's wicked little voice."

"He's avenged now," Arya murmured. "Joffrey and Cersei are dead. Even the executioner died of illness years ago. But I...think I would let them all live if I could have him back."

Sansa gave her a sad smile. "Yes. I think we all would."

A few days later, Robb arrived in King's Landing with a small group of north men. Their mother had stayed in Winterfell to take care of the children and to continue preparing Winterfell for any future attacks. Many people near the wall were already evacuating further south. If the dead crossed the wall, they would be the first victims.

After hugging her brother and asking after their family, Arya asked _him_ what Tywin had written in his letter.

"He said that Daenerys Targaryen outnumbers us by quite a lot," Robb said. "But that she might not yet know that. A strong united stance is the only way to convince her that we are worth listening to. Obviously, if she wishes to take revenge on the Starks for the rebellion, we have no choice but to fight. Even if she doesn't wipe us from Westeros, she may remove us from Winterfell and we've suffered too much to let her do that."

"Who else to take Winterfell?" Arya asked. "The entire north stood against her family, not just the Starks. She would be mad to think a southerner can hold the north."

"Apparently a Mormont stands as one of her allies," Robb said. "But he should have faced justice from father years ago for selling slaves. Still, since he has served Daenerys Targaryen loyally, she might try to gift him with the title of warden of the north."

Arya's brow furrowed. She remembered Tyrion telling her about Jorah Mormont, and she had passed the knowledge along to Tywin. She hadn't known why Jorah Mormont was banished but Tywin apparently did and he had seen fit to remind Robb of that. It showed that Tywin had been listening to every detail she had given him, but it gave her not a single glimpse of his play.

Like it or not, it seemed she was going into this meeting blind.

* * *

The night before the meeting, Jaime could not sleep, and he found himself wandering the keep at dawn, trying not to think of the dragons that would soon be flying over King's Landing. He had once dreamed of riding or slaying dragons when he was a young boy. Ultimately, he had slain a dragon-but the world had hated him for it. He was not eager to meet that man's daughter. She would surely not look kindly at him.

But there was one face he was glad to see, even if the situation was complicated. Tyrion. He found his brother in the Red Keep at the entrance nearest to the docks, walking side by side with a grizzled man in armor. When Tyrion spotted him, a mix of emotion crossed his face, but he smiled through all of them.

"Jaime." He glanced at the knight. "Go on Ser Jorah. I'll follow you."

Jorah looked suspiciously between the brothers but nodded and continued on his way. Tyrion turned fully to face him, a sheepish sort of smile on his face.

"Hello, little brother," Jaime murmured. "You found your way home again I see."

"Yes. Not much has changed," Tyrion said. He seemed almost nervous to be speaking to Jaime and he did not quite look him in the eye. "It's good to see you again. I missed you very much."

"And I you," Jaime said. "I only wish that you hadn't returned with a Targaryen queen."

"It was the only way I could return," Tyrion said. "Since I was exiled."

"And will it be worth it if she burns Casterly Rock to the ground with all of your family inside of it?" Jaime asked.

Tyrion ran a hand through his hair. "You know, scholars say that Casterly Rock may be one of the only castles that could survive dragon fire. Because of the-"

"Tyrion, that's not the point," Jaime said. "I just want to know why and I want to know if you're prepared for the consequences."

At last, Tyrion looked up at Jaime. "She would have come here with or without me Jaime. And if I was not with her...she would not be discussing peace with father." He stepped forward, resting a tentative hand on Jaime's elbow. "Whatever happens, I won't let you die, Jaime. Do you trust me on that?"

Jaime swallowed hard, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I do trust you. I just hope we do not end up on opposite sides of a war."

"So do I," Tyrion murmured. Then he glanced just past Jaime and a flicker of dread flashed through his eyes.

Tyrion stepped back and Jaime turned to see that their father was coming down the hall, flanked by some of the household guard. Jaime felt the sudden urge to either step in front of Tyrion or step well out of the way of his father's path. Instead, he opted not to move.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Tywin stopped in front of them. He scrutinized Tyrion for a long moment and Tyrion stood absolutely still, holding their father's gaze. Jaime longed for literally anything to interrupt that moment but nothing came.

"The meeting will begin in two hours," Tywin said at last. "I trust your queen will be there."

"Yes. Along with all of her allies," Tyrion said.

"Good," Tywin said adjusting his gloves. "We'll see then how she negotiates." Then, without another word, he continued on his path.

When he turned the corner, Tyrion let out a breath. "Seven hells. I don't know how he does that."

"Does what?" Jaime asked.

"Makes silence and normal words so damned intimidating." Tyrion shook his head. "I suppose that could have gone worse though. He could have cursed the day I was born."

"He's already done that, hasn't he?" Jaime said. "No, he won't give you his anger. That's what you would expect. He'd rather pretend that you don't matter to him at all."

"Business as usual then," Tyrion said.

"Yes. It's almost like old times," Jaime said. "Shall we-" He looked up and his words died as Arya came suddenly around the corner. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him, looking for a moment like she wanted to dart the other way.

"Ah," Tyrion said softly. "Your turn to feel uncomfortable it seems."

Jaime fought the urge to kick his brother in the shin.

Arya exhaled and approached the brothers slowly. "Lord Tyrion. I'm... glad to see you have arrived on time."

"Naturally, this is an important meeting," Tyrion said. "You just missed my reunion with father. It was very touching."

"I imagine," Arya said. Her eyes darted up to Jaime and she seemed to be trying to come up with something to say. Instead a silence hung between them

"Perhaps I should go," Tyrion said.

"You don't have to," Arya and Jaime said at near the same time. Tyrion cracked a smile.

"No, but I shall. I must make sure all of my people get to where they are going. Many have never been to King's Landing." He gave them a little bow. "Until later."

Jaime watched Tyrion go, nervously flexing his left hand a few times before looking back down to Arya. "So...has father given you any instructions?"

"No. He's keeping his strategy very close to the chest. It's maddening," Arya said. "This meeting isn't going to go well. All of the lords and ladies have different reasons to hate Daenerys and none will be eager to kneel if she demands it which she will."

"They're right to be suspicious," Jaime said. "And right to fight against a Targaryen restoration."

"Maybe. But I'd rather that fight didn't come at the cost of those I care about."

"It won't," Jaime murmured, even though he was not sure. "The Starks have made it through many hardships. I'm sure they will make it through this as well."

Arya nodded once. "You've...been hiding well in the Red Keep this past moon. I've barely seen you."

"I did not think you would want to see me," Jaime said.

"I didn't want to see you," she said. "It's just...something I noticed."

"Right. Of course," Jaime said. "You're welcome then."

"For what?" Arya asked.

"Properly avoiding you," he said. "It was not always easy."

Jaime thought he saw the sides of her mouth twitch for a moment, but she seemed to fight against it.

"We should go to the dragon pit," Arya said. "Better to be early than late."

"Right," Jaime said. "To the dragon pit then."

The distance between them was still far wider than Jaime liked. He had accepted that things might never again be as they were. How could they be after she knew the truth? But it was nice to know that he could still almost make her smile.

* * *

In the dragon pit, they had arranged the seating in an open square. In the center, Margaery and Tywin took their seats, flanked on both side by Lannisters and Tyrells. Off to the right sat the other lords loyal to Margaery and the crown, including the Starks, the Tullys and some minor houses from the Stormlands, still loyal to Steffon Baratheon and his mother. Jon stood with them as well, next to his crate of proof and a few men from the Night's watch. Only the Vale had not come, and that was not a surprise. Of course Lysa Arryn would hide away in the mountain with her son, hoping to wait out the war. But at least it meant she had not given her forces to the enemy yet.

The left side was for Daenerys and her allies: The Dornish, the Greyjoys, the commanders of the Unsullied and Dothraki armies. Two knights stood at her side as well-Ser Barristan Selmy and Jorah Mormont. And Tyrion was there, next to a chair that sat open for Daenerys. The only one missing was the dragon queen herself.

"Where is she?" Jaime murmured from beside Tywin.

"No doubt planning to make an entrance," Tywin glanced up at the skies. "When she does arrive, try not to speak if you can help it. Better that you don't call attention to yourself."

"I would almost take that as an insult if I didn't know the reason," Jaime said. "Don't worry, I won't throw myself to the dragons."

Arya shifted in her seat. "And what should I do."

"Only speak if it's absolutely necessary," Tywin said. "You have some of Daenerys Targaryen's respect or else she would not have agreed to meet. It would be foolish to squander that."

Arya thought about protesting, but before she could a shadow fell over the pit and the beat of wings reached her ears. Across from the seats, the red and black dragon landed with a heavy thud, rattling every chair in the pit. He let out a screech and several of the lords jumped to their feet, cursing. The green one landed just behind him, barring his teeth in a snarl.

 _Only two dragons,_ Arya thought. Perhaps she had sent the third somewhere else, but it seemed strange not to arrive with her full strength if she meant to make an impression.

"Seven hells," Jaime muttered under his breath, gripping onto his chair with his good hand. Arya supposed that one only needed a single dragon to strike fear in the hearts of men. She had already seen them and she had to force herself not to flinch.

Daenerys Targaryen looked very small on the back of her great beast, but she dismounted gracefully like someone with practice. She strode to her place in the gathering, her face a mask of calm confidence.

Once Daenerys took her seat, the two dragons took flight again, leaving the other lords and ladies in the pit to slowly catch their breath. Only Tywin had not moved at all or even given an indication of surprise. He regarded Daenerys calmly for a very long silence, as if taking her in. Then he looked to Jon instead.

"Lord Snow, there are some here who have not yet seen proof of the threat to the north. Take this moment to show them and we can get on with this meeting."

Jon nodded, standing slowly from his seat and gesturing for his men to drag the crate to the center of the circle. It was the third time Arya had seen the wight revealed, and even now it sent a chill through her to see it skitter across the ground, snarling from its mangled maw. The others in the circle jumped and Arya heard a few screams. She did not blame them for that. Seeing a dragon and a walking dead man on the same day must be very startling.

"This is just one of thousands of soldiers. Tens of thousands," Jon said. "And they are very difficult to kill. Dragon glass will do the job, as will fire and Valyrian steel. But even so, this is beyond anything Westeros has faced in thousands of years, and though the wall stands between us and them now, there is no guarantee that it will stand. And if the wall does fall...every one of the living that these things kill will be added to their numbers. It is an army we do not have a chance of defeating unless we ban together." He looked amongst the lords. "We all have different ideas of who should sit on the iron throne. But we need to make peace today...even if temporarily. Or else we will all die."

"Queen Daenerys recognizes this threat and what it could mean for Westeros," Tyrion said. "Which is why she has already generously allowed the mining of dragon glass from Dragonstone. A gift in exchange for this peaceful meeting. But she is willing to offer more if everyone present bends the knee. If that happens, she will become your ally in the war against the dead and ensure Westeros' safety. She has not come to conqueror or burn." Tyrion scanned the lords and ladies before him. "And I think all of us here would prefer peace to war. Westeros has already seen much of it in the past few decades."

"And what war started that string of conflicts?" Tywin asked. "Remind me."

"Robert's Rebellion," Daenerys spoke up and Tyrion winced. Arya wondered if he had wanted to avoid Daenerys speaking directly to his father. "In which my family was unlawfully overthrown by rebels. I did not think you would need a reminder."

"I don't. Nor does any lord or lady here," Tywin said. "They remember what it was like living beneath your father's rule." He regarded her coldly. "Putting that aside, it seems to me that helping defeat the dead is in your best interest as well as ours."

"I'm not sure it is," Daenerys said. "If you are all my enemies, helping you would not be in my interest at all."

Tywin raised his eyebrows. "You think that we will die without your help, is that it?"

"It seems likely," Daenerys said.

"If we do, you will face the army of the dead by yourself," Tywin said. "And it will greatly out number you. Every man that falls will be added to their numbers."

"I have dragons and dragons breathe fire. It is one of their weaknesses," Daenerys countered.

"You rely too heavily on your dragons it seems and you forget that most of your armies are not used to fighting in the cold, nor do they know the terrain of Westeros."

"We will manage," Daenerys said. "I cannot offer my help as a queen unless I am acknowledged as a queen."

"Why should we be expected to kneel if your protection is conditional?" Robb cut in. "I hear you already call yourself protector of the realm. If that title was for anything but show, you would offer your help freely and prove that you are worthy of it...especially since you have no claim to stand on. You may call Robert's Rebellion unlawful, but many of us in this circle see it differently. Your father was a tyrant deposed by the Starks, the Baratheons, the Tullys, the Arryns and so many more. The Targaryen line was broken. You have no more claim to the throne."

"We're well aware that Starks think that they can meddle in the affairs of other great families," Yara Greyjoy broke in. "You took it upon yourself to depose the Targaryens and the Greyjoys. And you involved the Riverlands in your wars."

"Don't bring the Riverlands into this, girl," Bryden Tully sneered from beside Robb. Arya was glad they had sent him along with her uncle Edmuere. Bryden the Blackfish was famously stronger willed. "As if the Greyjoys have not happily raided us for years. If we have complaints with Lord Stark, we'll bring them up on our own."

"Yes, it's funny how you lecture me about involving myself in the business of other families," Robb said. "Especially when your family tried to take the north for themselves during the war of Five Kings."

"It was conquest," Yara said. "If the Baratheons can take it from the Targaryens, then the Greyjoys can take it from the Starks just as easily. Or does that rule only apply when it benefits you."

"You call that conquest?" Robb asked. "Your short stay at Winterfell and your crippling defeat at the Iron Islands? It was petty raids, nothing more."

"We'll gladly take back the Iron Islands when the true queen takes the throne," Yara said. "Aegon the Conqueror did it. She can do the same."

"We are trying to avoid a violent end," Tyrion ventured, sitting forward in his chair. "That's why we are here, is it not?"

"We are here to make peace, yes," Daenerys said. "But Yara Greyjoy is right. If I must use force, I will."

"And do you intend to fight a babe for the throne?" Margaery spoke up. "My son is next in line. He is not even a year old, but it belongs to him. Why should he surrender the throne to you?"

"I bear your child no ill will," Daenerys said.

"Stealing my child's inheritance is ill will," Margaery shot back. "You are taking something that does not belong to you. Besides, why should we trust that you do not mean us any harm when you flew to the pit on the back of your greatest weapon? Don't think we don't recognize the threat. And we don't trust honor from you any more than we did from your father."

"Oh, honor is important to you?" Oberyn rose from his seat, stepping into the center of the circle. "How can you speak of honor when the seat of the regency is held by one of the most dishonorable men in the seven kingdoms? The Starks and Baratheons rose up against the Mad King but they did not overthrow him." Oberyn glared at Tywin, for the first time making his true fury known. "No...He was betrayed by the Lannisters. Murdered by one lion while the other sacked King's Landing and slaughtered his grandchildren. Honor would see them punished for that and yet one is allowed to be regent of the seven kingdoms. That is _not_ honor."

"And your queen has a kingslayer and kinslayer as her hand," Margaery retorted. "Where is the honor in that?"

"I was accused of that crime, yes, but it was never proven," Tyrion said. "I did _not_ kill the king. I still maintain-

Robb stood from his seat as well, barely even glancing at Tyrion. "As long as we're speaking of honor, perhaps one of you can explain to me the honor of burning my grandfather and uncle alive. We've all heard the stories. Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped and raped my father's sister and when my grandfather and uncle rode south on her behalf, hoping to save her, they were met with fire and blood. However the Mad King was unseated, it doesn't matter to me. He did not deserve the crown."

"My father was an evil man," Daenerys said, raising her voice. "I will not deny it. But I ask not to be judged by the sins of my father."

"How can you ask us not to judge you for your father's sins when you demand his throne in the same breath?" Robb asked. "You cannot pick and choose."

"You believe my claim to my father's throne is invalid." Daenerys' eyes narrowed. "If you wish for me to stake my claim as Aegon the Conqueror once did, I will."

"Aegon the Conqueror faced a divided country of squabbling kings," Olenna's cutting voice joined the verbal battle. "You face a far more united country. The North, the Riverlands, the Reach, the West, the Stormlands and the Crownlands are all joined against you. You have the Greyjoys and their few hundred men and the Dornish. If you were to go to war, you would burn most of the seven kingdoms to the ground and be reviled throughout history, perhaps more than your father. It seems to me that you should focus on winning loyalty and not demanding it."

Olenna's voice was strong and lords and ladies throughout the gathering shifted. When Arya looked amongst them, she saw the anger on their faces-their refusal to bow easily to the Targaryen's queens demands. The longer this meeting went on, the less peaceful it seemed.

"If we are speaking of loyalty, I recall the Tyrells were loyal to my family in the rebellion," Daenerys said.

"And now we are loyal to Queen Margaery and her son," Olenna said firmly. "As are tens of thousands of soldiers in the Reach."

"And it would be a shame for any one of those soldiers to die needlessly," Daenerys said.

From beside Olenna, Sansa lifted her chin. "Will you burn them all alive with your dragons?" Her voice was calm, and only her gaze showed a hint of venom. "Set the Reach on fire?"

"If I have no other choice," Daenerys said.

"That would not be wise," Sansa said. "The Reach provides most of the food for Westeros. It is the region that helps the people survive the cold of the winter. To burn it would mean mass starvation. And when people are starving they rise up and fight. I witnessed the smallfolk try to kill a king once because they were starving. It would be much worse if the Reach burned." She tilted her head to the side. "But you would not know that, I suppose. You know nothing about this country yet you mean to conqueror it. At least Aegon spent several years studying Westeros from Dragonstone."

Daenerys' jaw clenched. She was beginning to realize her position here. The lords and ladies of Westeros did not want her as their queen and they did not welcome her as a savior like she wanted. Arya looked to from her to Tywin. If he wanted this meeting to be peaceful, he wasn't doing much to prevent the downward spiral. He had barely said anything at all. Why?

"None of this matters," Jon said. "The dead could kill us all if we can't stop squabbling. Then it won't matter who holds power."

"He's right," Daenerys said. "You should think of how to best survive...not who sits on the iron throne."

"I could say the same to you," Arya stood. She had managed to hold her tongue for this long, but now she couldn't stop herself. "You're right. We need to survive. That is what comes first. But we need to plan for what comes after wards as well. We can't throw the future away because it seems we might all die. If we defeat the dead...it will matter who sits on the iron throne. It will matter to everyone in Westeros, from the smallfolk to the richest lords. When terrible rulers have the throne, thousands die. It may not seem like much next to the long night, but it's still death a suffering." Arya stared Daenerys down. "Perhaps you will be a good queen, but we don't know you well enough to put our future in your hands."

"But you would put it with Tywin Lannister?" Oberyn asked. He had never spoken so venomously to her, but she did not let it shake her. "If you _do_ know him, you wouldn't do such a thing."

"The future lies with Queen Margaery and her son," Olenna retorted. "Lord Tywin merely assists as is his duty to the realm."

"In my last dealings with Lord Tywin, he road to help the north against their enemies," Robb said. "If Daenerys Targaryen is not willing to do the same, why should I turn to her?"

The other lords began to erupt into argument. Many stood to their feet, shouting to be heard over each other. Arya stood back from the crowd, her eyes wide. They had lost control of this. No agreement was going to be reached if-

" _Silence_."

Tywin's voice boomed from beside her, the first time he had spoken since the beginning of the meeting. And a quiet fell over the dragon pit and hung there for a long pause as he scanned the crowd. Then he spoke again. "It seems this meeting could use a brief recess. Take a moment to calm yourselves."

Slowly, the lords stepped away from each other and retreated back to their seats. Arya let out a breath as some of the tension lowered. Tywin stood from his seat and glanced down at her. "Go to Tyrion," he murmured under his breath. "Tell him I wish to speak to his queen alone."

Arya blinked and looked up at Tywin. "What?"

"Do as I say," Tywin said. Then he left the dragon pit with his guards.

Arya was left hovering for a moment, trying to guess at Tywin's intentions. The meeting was a disaster, and yet somehow, it seemed like things were going according to his plan.

 _He wanted it to devolve,_ she realized. _He wanted the meeting to fall into chaos...so that he could take control of the negotiations._

That was why he barely said a word. As a Lannister, anything he argued could be countered by the terrible things he had done in the past. Instead, he let the others argue for him and made himself seem more reasonable by comparison. Daenerys could not make a deal with this many...but she could, perhaps, make a deal with him.

Arya let out a breath and strode over to Tyrion. A few unsullied tried to block her path but Tyrion waved them away.

"It's all right. Let her pass." He stepped forward. "This isn't going very well is it?"

"No," Arya said. "That's why your father has asked to speak with your queen alone."

Tyrion's brow furrowed. "With what purpose?"

"I assume he means to offer her a deal," Arya said. "You should convince her to say yes. Unless you want to endure more of this gathering."

"I'm wary of giving my father what he wants," Tyrion said. "But you're right. If this gathering continues in this way, we might kill each other before the dead ever reach us." He sighed. "Give me a moment."

Arya watched as Tyrion turned and went to Daenerys. She could not hear what they said from this distance, but at least Daenerys was listening to him. After a long pause she nodded once, glancing briefly up at Arya as she did. Then she called two Unsullied soldiers to her side and left the Dragon pit in the same direction as Tywin.

Tyrion returned to Arya's side. "Well, she's willing to discuss. Not that I am surprised. No ruler wants to stand in the center of this lot taking arrows from all sides."

"They're not wrong to speak," Arya said. "And many speak truth."

"Perhaps," Tyrion said. He looked up as Jaime approached them. "Ah. I see you kept as quiet as possible the entire meeting."

"Father's orders," Jaime said. "Not that I wanted to invite any king slayer accusations." He glanced at Arya. "I saw Daenerys Targaryen leave in the same direction as him."

"Yes," Arya murmured. "Whatever he's been planning, I assume this is where he makes his play."

"I suppose we trust him to handle it then," Jaime said.

Tyrion let out a breath. "Isn't that a terrifying thought?"

* * *

 _ **A/N: Gotta love massive arguments where everyone has their own grievances and motivations to air! But it was all according to Tywin's plan of course. Next chapter...one I have been very excited to write for a long time. The Tywin and Daenerys conversation. Should be fun. Until then, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	88. Chapter 88: The Lion and the Dragon

_**A/N: Got another long chapter for you guys. Funny enough, I actually hoped to cover more than what happens in this chapter but I, as usual, underestimated how many words things would take. And I really can't write more than 6,000 words in one setting lol. BUT We've got Tywin vs Daenerys as well as some of Tyrion's perspective later on. The Tywin and Daenerys convo is over 3,000 words so it might be my longest conversation I've ever written. Hope you all enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 88: The Lion and the Dragon**

It was a strange thing, having a Targaryen back in the Red Keep. Years ago, Tywin had helped to wipe out the bloodline of the dragons. He knew, of course, that Rhaella's two youngest children had fled across the sea, but they were not a concern to him. What could two children do without an army?

It was some concern when Daenerys Targaryen was wed to a powerful Dothraki horse lord, but even then, the Dothraki had never crossed the narrow sea and were unlikely to change that anytime soon. When word came that Viserys Targaryen had died, that seemed to put the issue to rest. One Targaryen girl alone did not have a chance of taking back the Iron Throne.

Tywin had been very wrong about that. In the span of a few years the girl had hatched three dragons, gained an army greater than perhaps any other in the world, and set Slaver's Bay aflame. If Tywin had treated her as a threat sooner, he could have sent some assassin across the sea. Not a Faceless man. Their price for her life was too steep. But some clever sell sword perhaps.

It was too late now. It had been too late ever since she set foot in Westeros. Now, he had to contend this new Targaryen just as he had contended with her father decades ago. And this one would not be so easily put down.

In appearance, Daenerys Targaryen favored her mother-at least from what Tywin could remember. They had the same silvery white hair, violet eyes and delicate facial features. But her flair for the dramatic...that was a trait that came entirely from her father. If Aerys had a dragon, he would have flown it to every possible meeting just to remind people of his name and power. Tywin was grateful that the dragons had died out long before Aerys ever took the throne.

There were other similarities too. Even when Aerys was young, he was prone to making grand speeches and claims with no real foundation. When he had taken the throne and named Tywin as his Hand, it was Tywin who had to remind him that he had to, on occasion, deliver on his great plans and promises.

" _You worry too much, my friend,"_ Aerys often laughed, back when he still had some good humor. _"I always find a way."_

" _Or you forget entirely when you move onto the next venture."_

" _I don't forget. I just find better things with which to occupy my time. I don't have time for the trivial matters. That's your job."_

Aerys often did not realize that those trivial matters were vital to keeping stability in the realm. He had the mind of a dragon-too high up in the clouds to see anything happening on the ground.

Daenerys Targaryen seemed the same, based on her entrance to the Dragon pit. And also like her father, the woman was an open book. Every emotion showed clear upon her face and she gave away her hand too easily. If she was patient, she would have let Tyrion speak for her and held back so that she could read the room. Instead, she had leapt into the fray the first chance she had. That impulsiveness and emotional honesty had made Aerys a poor negotiator and Tywin had conducted important meetings whenever possible during his time as Hand.

But Aerys' daughter at least had some care for the lives of others. She wanted to be loved by the people, not simply feared and obeyed. She did not want to reduce the country to ashes even though she pretended that she was willing to do so. If she could find a peaceful path, she would take it-so long as it did not make her look weak.

Tywin was not surprised when the dragon queen took up his offer to meet separately. He expected that she would take the chance to negotiate with him as opposed to the dozens of other angry lords. When she entered the room, she had hardened her face to stone, yet he could see the light of hate in her eyes.

"Apparently you wished to speak alone," she said coolly.

"I did." Tywin grasped a pitcher from across the table and poured wine into two goblets. "I find negotiations are easier between two people than twenty."

"Perhaps if you had more control over your subjects, it would not be so difficult," Daenerys said.

"I have control," Tywin said. "They quieted when I told them to, did they not?" He extended a goblet of wine to her and she scrutinized it skeptically. He raised his eyebrows. "It isn't poisoned."

"Why should I trust that claim. I would not put such tactics past you," Daenerys said. "You're a treacherous man."

"A treacherous man perhaps, but not a fool," Tywin said. "If I poisoned you, your unsullied guards would kill me where I stand and your armies would run wild across the country."

She accepted the goblet slowly but did not drink. "Perhaps you could use a slow acting poison."

"Perhaps I could." Tywin sipped some of the wine himself. "You may drink it or you may not. It makes no difference to me."

She hesitated for a moment longer before sipping the wine. Then she glanced to her unsullied guards. "Wait outside."

They nodded and departed, closing the door behind them. Only then did Daenerys turn back to look at him. "If you have so much control over the lords, why did you allow them to argue for so long? It was devolving into madness."

"Yes. It was. But there were many grievances to be shared," Tywin said.

Her eyes narrowed when she studied him. "You wanted it to fall apart...so that you had a chance to call this meeting and negotiate for yourself."

"I don't control the thoughts and feelings of the lords and ladies of Westeros," he said. "Nor can I control what they say."

"No, but I'm sure you reminded them of their _grievances_ with my family," Daenerys said. "So that they would be properly angry when I arrived."

"It did not take much reminding," Tywin said. "Your father was hated and is still hated. Many who remember him are still alive."

"Like you," Daenerys said flatly.

"Yes," Tywin said. "Like me."

"I don't remember him or my mother I'm afraid," Daenerys said. "My brother and I were forced from Dragonstone when I was a baby. If any Lannister or Baratheon men found us, we would have been killed. Now all I know is the stories." She swirled the wine in her goblet. "And who knows. Perhaps they were sensationalized to strengthen the Baratheon claim to the throne. Maybe you all claimed my father was a mad man to make yourselves look like heroes."

"I don't believe I have been considered a hero once in my life," Tywin said. "The stories are not myths. If they were, you would have had much less trouble with the lords just outside. And as you say...you did not know your father. I knew him very well."

"I imagine you did," Daenerys said. "It's ironic isn't it? You were the Hand of the King to my father, and now your son is _my_ Hand."

She wanted to get a rise out of him, Tywin could tell, but he was well used to suppressing his personal feelings when necessary. "Tyrion did a decent enough job managing Joffrey, who was not a very good king. If you are any sort of decent ruler, he should have an easier time."

His tone was such that it implied she might not be, and it made Daenerys' brow knit with irritation, but she did not rise to his bait either. "Tyrion became my hand because he seems to think I will be good for Westeros."

"That's his judgement," Tywin said. "I haven't made mine yet."

"If your judgement is so flawless, why did you ever become my father's Hand?" Daenerys asked. "Surely you would want to distance yourself from such a mad man."

"Aerys wasn't born mad," Tywin said. "His affliction developed slowly over time and grew worse with age. No one would have guessed what he would become when he first assumed the throne."

The smallest spark of worry past through the young queen's eyes. Perhaps she had not known that about her father. And if it was age that made him mad, who was to say the same would not happen to her? "He showed no signs when he was younger?"

"Well, he was proud and impulsive...but that was a trait of most Targaryen rulers," Tywin said. "See that is why no one in that pit is certain of you. You're still young. Even if you are mentally sound now, they do not know what you will become. And _you_ have dragons. It's a blessing that the Mad King did not have those."

For a moment she did not respond. She faced the window, gripping tight to her cup. But when she turned back to face him, her expression was strong again.

"The dragons are exactly why I hold all of the cards in this negotiation," she said. "They are the best weapon against the Night King and his armies. You need me and my forces in the battle against the undead if you want to have any hope of winning."

"I said before that you rely too heavily on your dragons and I meant it," Tywin said. "They are not invincible."

Daenerys' eyes narrowed. "They nearly are. That's enough."

"Is it?" Tywin asked. "Where is your third dragon?"

She hesitated. Only a fraction of a second but it was enough to invalidate the words that left her mouth next. "He's guarding my fleet. There was no need to-"

"You're lying," Tywin said. "You flew north to see the army of the dead yourself. I noticed that you were a bit mute on that trip during the meeting. You lost your third dragon there."

Daenerys' jaw clenched and she did not respond.

Tywin exhaled, pacing to the window. "How did it happen?"

"I...don't..."

"You've greatly complicated our situation with this mistake," Tywin said. "If the army of the dead is able to kill dragons, we need to know how."

"A javelin," she said softly. "We were caught in a thick bank of clouds and could not see, so we flew lower to get a glimpse of the army. The Night King was waiting, as if he knew exactly where we would appear." She shook her head. "Still, it should have been impossible. No dragon has ever been felled in such a way."

"And no dead man has walked in 8,000 years. You should have been prepared for such a trap," Tywin said. "You were overconfident about the strength of your dragons and you lost one. Now the dead have a dragon as part of their army which means he can cover greater distances, wreak more devastation and even fly to Essos to destroy the people there once he's done with Westeros."

"We don't know he has my dragon," Daenerys said. But her voice was softer now, weakened by doubt and grief and perhaps even guilt for her blunder. "He sank into an icy lake. The Night King might not be able to-"

"He will," Tywin said. "I have no idea how that cursed magic works, but I'm sure the Night King will find a way."

The dragon queen did not reply. In truth, though this mistake of hers could be disastrous for Westeros, it was extremely ideal for him. He had not dreamed, in all of his planning, that Daenerys Targaryen would _lose_ one of her dragons and to the army of the dead no less.

Tywin turned to face her again. "It really is a shame for you. You had a lot of power in this negotiation. But now you've given a destructive weapon to an enemy that could wipe out the whole of Westeros. It's possible you've doomed the very people you claim to protect."

"That was not my intention."

"No, of course not. But it's the truth all the same. Perhaps you should focus on correcting your mistake before you demand the loyalty of the people."

Daenerys' lip curled slightly. "Yes, perhaps I should. And when the army of the dead is defeated, what then? I suppose it will be war between us and as long as I have even one dragon, I will have an advantage. I have larger armies that are better rested and more trained than the majority of your soldiers. I know your numbers. You cannot beat me in a fight."

"No. You're right," Tywin said, and the admission seemed to surprise her. She had clearly expected him to insist that they would prevail. "You will likely win. However...the cost of a victory will be steep." He circled the table. "You recall what Olenna Tyrell said at the pit? About the number of families we have on our side?"

"I recall," Daenerys said.

"And you remember what Sansa Tyrell said as well? The red headed girl," Tywin said. "She brought up the rather important issue of food at the onset of winter."

"Yes, I remember that as well," Daenerys said.

"Good," Tywin said. "Then you know what would happen if you insisted on meeting us in war. You may win, but you would burn many a great house to the ground and set the fields a flame, just in time for this new winter to set in. The people would starve, the ashes would fall like snow and you would be queen of a graveyard. The history books would not paint a pretty picture of you then."

"Aegon and his sister burned many a house to the ground as well," Daenerys reminded him. "The history books were kind enough to them."

"Out of fear," Tywin said. "Who would criticize the family who still had dragons? The histories say that the people danced in the streets when Aegon was crowned king and worshiped him like he was a god. But most were just praying for a stop to the blaze. The kings of old did not kneel out of loyalty. They kneeled because if they didn't, they would lose everything. Fear united the Seven Kingdoms. Not loyalty or awe."

Daenerys fell silent at this, taking a moment to drink her wine again. This time she took more than a sip. She knew she was standing on shaky ground in this debate.

"I don't believe you want to be queen of the ashes," Tywin said. "If you did, you never would have agreed to this meeting. You want the people to see you as a savior, not a butcher. Why else would you have spent so much time in Essos freeing slaves?"

"Because it was the right thing to do," Daenerys said.

"And so is helping Westeros win this war without asking for a crown in return," Tywin pointed out.

"Maybe it is," Daenerys said. "But when that war is won, what if I receive nothing but hatred and fear in return for my efforts? And my armies will be weakened and easier for you to kill."

"Fighting a war with no guarantee of a reward is an excellent way to change the minds of the lords in the pit...and of all the people," Tywin said. "Words mean very little to Westeros. They've heard enough lies and broken promises that they know better than to take anyone by their word. Actions speak much louder."

She paused and Tywin could see her considering the thought. In the end, she wasn't so different from Robert Baratheon. They both wanted to be seen as the hero of a good story while others took on the role of villain. Tywin had played the role of the villain for Robert once and Robert had accepted it, losing not one night of sleep over the dead Targaryen children.

Daenerys Targaryen did not want to burn the country and be reviled for such a deed. She wanted a peaceful surrender so that she could play the hero. Tywin was giving her a chance to earn that.

"I assure you, I'm in no hurry to fight a war with you once we handle the dead. _If_ we handle the dead," Tywin continued. "If there is a peaceful solution to all of this, I mean to find it. But all roads to peace lead through me."

"Is that a threat?" Daenerys asked.

"A promise," Tywin said.

"The word of a Lannister means nothing to me," Daenerys said.

"If that's the case, I suggest you pick a different Hand," Tywin said.

"Fine then. It's _your_ word specifically that means nothing," Daenerys said. "You once promised help to my father and when he opened the gates, you sacked King's Landing and killed many innocent people. Perhaps my father was an evil man. I'll accept that. But my niece and nephew? My sister in law? None of them were evil and you had your man kill them anyway. What would it say about me if I let you survive once I take the throne? It would tell the world that I do not care about justice."

Tywin knew she would come to this point eventually. There was no way she could justify letting him live, after all. Not with her Dornish allies. Not with her love of appearing 'just'. But at the very least, her blunder with the dragon had allowed him to buy time. "We can worry about justice once our survival is assured."

Daenerys was quiet for a long time, staring at the table between them in deep contemplation. Tywin waited patiently in the silence, already knowing how she would answer.

"I must discuss this with my generals and allies," Daenerys said at last. "I won't make a hasty decision without consulting them."

Tywin nodded once. It was a smart play, and it was possible some might argue against the truce. But the Dornish had reason to be worried about the Dead if the rest of the seven kingdoms perished in the coming winter. And the rogue dragon was a threat to the rest of Daenerys' armies even if they hid away on their islands. "Consult with your people then. We'll return to the Dragon Pit and you will guarantee a truce and your help against the Night King. The nature of said help you will discuss with your advisors. I can convince the lords and ladies of Westeros to wait until tomorrow morning for a full answer."

Daenerys considered this for a moment longer, finishing her drink as she did. Then she set it down with a sharp clack, straightening. "Yes. Tomorrow morning will be sufficient. But whatever answer I give there will be final."

 _Naturally,_ Tywin thought. _She cannot be seen as malleable if she is to be an effective ruler._

Daenerys opened the door and her unsullied guards stood at attention. But she paused before she left, looking back at him. "It's interesting. From the stories I would not expect you to be a man who pursues peace."

"I pursue whatever I must for my family," Tywin said. "If I believed ruthlessness would win my house the day, I would gladly take that path."

"No doubt," Daenerys inclined her head. "In that case...I'm very glad for my large armies and dragons."

She left then and Tywin lingered for a long moment in the silence of the room. The negotiations had gone well. Better than expected. He had not yet been forced to play his most desperate card. It was only a matter of time of course. Circumstances, Daenerys' allies, and the dragon queen herself would force his hand before this was over.

Just as well. Whatever happened, Tywin would ensure a future for House Lannister.

* * *

Arya waited restlessly in the silence, flipping one of her knives in her hand. Every lord and lady in the pit was nervous, shifting from foot to foot, pacing about the pit, talking to each other in low voices.

Then, at last, Daenerys returned and Tywin followed shortly afterward. They returned to their seats and Arya hurried back to Tywin's side.

"What happened?" she asked. "Did it go well?"

Tywin did not answer but rather indicated Daenerys who was stepping back to the center of the pit.

"I understand that none of you trust me," Daenerys said. "And I cannot earn trust with words alone. If I wish to be a queen, I will have to act as one and protect my people." She looked to Tywin. "I will agree to a truce until the threat to the North is dealt with. And I wish to offer my help. But the nature and extent of that help I must first discuss with my advisors."

A murmur went up amongst the crowd, one of confusion but also of relief. Arya saw Jon slowly relax. Margaery seemed skeptical, but she did not protest. Daenerys' allies, however, looked especially concerned. Tyrion most of all. He was looking from Daenerys to his father with wide eyes, probably wondering what exactly Tywin had said to convince her to set aside her demands for now.

"The crown accepts your truce," Tywin said. "And whatever help you deign to give. We expect an answer by morning. There is little time to prepare."

"You'll have your answer," Daenerys said, her voice steady and calm. Then she turned and signaled to her people to follow her. They did with little pause. Only Oberyn glanced back over his shoulder, scrutinizing Tywin like he might a particularly dangerous spider. Tyrion lingered for a few moments longer, looking just as doubtful. But then he hastened to follow after the dragon queen.

The other lords and ladies rose and began to depart. Margaery glanced at Tywin before she left. "So, negotiations went well then?"

"Better than expected," Tywin replied. "Her help isn't a guarantee yet. Some of her allies don't trust me to be honorable in any arrangement."

"But if she doesn't help, nearly all of Westeros will resent her for it," Margaery said, smoothing down her skirts. "She'll give us her assistance. She's the type who desperately wants people to love her...even if she tries to hide it."

Tywin inclined his head, silently agreeing to the point.

Arya lingered next to Tywin as most of the others departed, waiting until everyone but Jaime was out of ear shot to speak.

"Why did negotiations go better than expected?"

"Because the dragon queen lost a dragon," Tywin said. "You must have noticed that only two arrived today."

Arya's brow furrowed. "I did but...I thought it might be elsewhere."

"I'm sorry, how do you _lose_ a dragon?" Jaime asked.

"To the white walkers, apparently," Tywin said. "This supposed Night King has the strength to take down a full grown dragon with a javelin. I blamed the young queen for the potential destruction of Westeros and it seemed to move her."

"So, the negotiations went well," Jaime said. "But our situation is worse because now both of our major enemies have dragons."

"And the north will be the first in danger if the Night King can use that dragon to cross the wall," Arya said. Her heart raced even thinking about a dragon flying over Winterfell. Her mother was still there and all of Robb's children.

"It will be," Tywin agreed. "Tell your brother to send a raven north and begin evacuating as many people as possible. I won't give the Night King more soldiers because we failed to act quickly. Tell him about the dragon but make sure he tells no one else. We don't want to start a panic until we have Daenerys Targaryen's sure support."

"And what if she doesn't give us her sure support?" Jaime asked. "What if her allies convince her to let us rot?"

"They won't," Tywin said, and he sounded sure. But Arya could not imagine why. In her mind, their situation grew more difficult by the day, and the realm was teetering on the brink between destruction by fire and destruction by ice.

It did not seem a question of whether or not they would survive...but rather what kind of end they would meet.

* * *

The tension on Daenerys' flag ship was nearly too much for Tyrion to handle. No one had spoken yet against Daenerys' decision but all of them had doubts plain on their faces. The Dothraki came for war, not for peace. Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan did not trust Tywin Lannister to hold to any promises or bargains. The Greyjoys and the Dornish wanted their revenge. None wanted to set aside a war against Tywin Lannister for a truce. After all, his father was a much more comfortable enemy to face than a king made of ice and thousands of years of fury.

"I know you all have doubts about my decision," Daenerys spoke at last. "But I cannot abandon Westeros to their fate and expect them to follow me. Especially after my mistake in the North. A truce is not enough. If I wish for them to see me as a queen, I must be prepared to fight for them."

"You may fight for them, yes," Jorah said. "But they may give you nothing in return for it. More likely, they will use you for your men and cling to their power once the war is done."

"And if they do, I will punish them for it," Daenerys said. "But I cannot withhold my help simply because I might not receive anything in return." She looked to Missandei who stood to her right side. "Why did you follow me? I offered to send you home to Naath, but you stayed by my side. Why?"

"Because you saved me, your grace," Missandei murmured.

"And you, Greyworm?" Daenerys turned to the leader of the Unsullied. "Why did you continue to fight for me even after I promised that you could go as a free man?"

"Because you fought for us. And freed us," Greyworm said.

"Then I must fight for the people here," Daenerys said.

"Forgive me, your grace, but it is not the same in Westeros," Yara spoke up. "These are free men who made their choices."

"The lords chose, maybe, but not the smallfolk," Daenerys said. "They will suffer the most if the enemy to the north is allowed to roam free."

"You're right," Oberyn said. "And you are kind to care about the small folk. But Tywin Lannister does not. He does not care about anyone but himself. If you play a fair game, he will repay you with treachery. He cannot be trusted."

"My father is ruthless," Tyrion said. "There is no denying that. But not without purpose. He's never cruel for the sake of being cruel. There's usually a motive. A goal."

 _In fact he is only cruel for the sake of being cruel when it comes to me,_ Tyrion thought, but did not say.

"And what was the aim of slaughtering my family?" Oberyn asked.

"To endear himself to the new King Robert," Tyrion said. "And to rid Westeros of Targaryens so that none could claim the throne but the Baratheons. Forgive me. There is no justification for what happened to your sister or your niece and nephew. But in my father's eyes it did have a purpose." He looked back to Daenerys. "He has made peace with his enemies before. With the Starks and the Tyrells. Both fought him once and now both argued in his favor in the pit today. It's not impossible that he might try to make peace with you."

"He made peace with the Starks and the Tyrells because they knelt," Yara pointed out. "Our queen will do no such thing."

"Yes, because she has very large armies and dragons," Tyrion said. "My father knows that. He won't throw himself into a war he can't win. It's not in his nature."

"So you believe he does want to make peace," Daenerys said. "And that this isn't a trick."

Tyrion gritted his teeth together. Gods, he could not _believe_ he was defending his father at all. "I don't know for sure. But it is a possibility."

"And if he does make peace?" Oberyn asked turning back to Daenerys. "What then? If he makes peace and bows to you, would you let him go free? After what he did to your kin?"

"I did not say that," Daenerys said. "I did not promise him any pardons. I promised him a truce until the threat to the north is dealt with. Tywin Lannister will receive justice for his crimes, as I promised. But for now, he is not the priority. Survival is the priority. For _all_ of us."

"She's right," Ser Barristan said. "If the Dead kill every lord in that pit and all of their people and armies, we will never defeat them. To withhold our help would be folly. I do not trust Tywin Lannister either, but the very fact that he is asking for help says that he fears this threat...as any wise man would."

Daenerys nodded once. "I will offer my support to the people of Westeros, along with my dragons, until the northern threat is defeated. If you wish to withdraw your support and retreat, you may. But my decision is final."

"We would never withdraw from a fight," Greyworm said firmly. "We are with you. Against the north and against these lords if they are treacherous."

Daenerys' Dothraki general spoke up in his own tongue, but it was clearly an affirmative 'yes' to her commands. She gave both of her commanders a grateful smile.

Yara looked down at the table, frustrated but no less determined. "You accepted me and my people when he fled our home and you've promised to give it back to us. Greyjoys don't run from a fight. We're with you."

Daenerys looked to Prince Oberyn, who was twisting a ring around his finger a bitter smile on his face. "Our alliance is new, my queen. But we will support you in this war." He looked up at her. "I will not pretend, of course, it is because of your Targaryen name. You see your father said nasty things about my sister and her children because he did not believe them 'pure' enough. And your brother humiliated and abandoned my sister for another. The history between the Targaryens and the Martells has always been complicated. Still, we put that aside and we followed you. Do you know why?"

"Because you wish to see a just ruler on the throne," Daenerys murmured. "And I promised justice for your enemies."

"Yes," Oberyn said, stepping back toward the cabin door. "And that is the condition for our help. If you cannot promise us that, we will look elsewhere."

"Our situation has not changed, Prince Oberyn," Daenerys said. "I vowed to be just and I will be. You have my word."

"Good," Oberyn said, opening the door. "And you have my word that we will fight with you." Then he left the cabin. The others filed away soon after and Tyrion made to follow, but Daenerys stopped him before he took a few steps.

"Stay," she said. "I still need to speak with you."

Tyrion exhaled and slowly closed the door, leaving them both alone. "Yes, your grace?"

Daenerys circled back behind her desk and took a seat. "How well do you know your father?"

"I would like to think I know him well," Tyrion said. "Though we haven't been acquainted in the past few years on account of the exiling."

"But you truly think he would make peace," Daenerys said.

"Yes," Tyrion said. "If it benefits him and our house. My father is capable of peace, and he's dealt with so many wars in the past few years...I think they are beginning to exhaust him."

Daenerys folded her hands in her lap. "I don't suppose he would make peace if he knew it meant his death."

"And does it?" Tyrion murmured. "Without question?"

"The Dornish won't accept anything less," Daenerys said. "And I cannot show Westeros that I am willing to forgive any and all slights against my family simply because the slighter assisted me in some way."

"No...I suppose not," Tyrion said. He supposed it shouldn't matter to him whether his father lived or died. Not after all of these years of abuse and hatred. Yet it did make him feel quite strange.

"I do wonder how to appease the others, of course," Daenerys said. "Robb Stark clearly does not like me. Nor does the current Queen Mother. The Tyrells and the North seem the most important parties to win over. So how do I do that?"

"Actually, the problem with the Tyrells is one we can perhaps solve easily," Tyrion said. "You told me once that you can't have children. Like it or not, this produces a succession crisis in the realm. But, if you were to...say...name young Steffon Baratheon as your heir, perhaps Margaery Tyrell could be persuaded to see reason."

"My heir?" Daenerys raised an eyebrow.

"Someone will eventually have to rule after you, though I hope you live a very long life," Tyrion said. "Naming Steffon as your heir...it will ensure that Margaery can maintain her place in the court and pacify the Tyrells."

"It may also encourage Margaery to quietly do away with me whenever her son grows old enough to rule," Daenerys said. "I do not know Margaery Tyrell well enough yet to give her such status."

"True enough," Tyrion said. It was frustrating that Daenerys so often avoided the topic of her heir when it was an important issue. There were many ways of choosing successors if a ruler did not have children...she just refused to decide on any of those ways. Daenerys did not like to think so far into the future. Tyrion hoped that might change once she had the crown. "If we're speaking of gaining the loyalty of the Starks and the Tyrells, there is one person whose trust could benefit you."

"And who is that?" Daenerys asked.

"My sister in law. Arya Lannister," Tyrion said. "She's the younger sister of Robb Stark, the head of the Stark family. He once gave up Northern independence to save her life, so he clearly cares for her. And she is the younger sister of Sansa Tyrell, married to the Tyrell heir, Willas. Sansa clearly already has a great deal of influence in the Reach, given how she spoke at the pit." Tyrion drummed his fingers against the table. "And of course, Arya has already gained some influence in the West through marriage to Jaime and through her actions during the conflict with the rogue Greyjoys. She is also tied to the Riverlands through her mother who was once a Tully. And she was a dear friend to my late nephew Tommen, so I assume she has a similarly friendly relationship with Margaery Baratheon."

"That's nearly all of the major regions who are against me," Daenerys said. "Is she really so well connected?"

"I wish I could say it was by accident," Tyrion said. "But my father has been very wise with arranging marriages in the past several years. A Lannister married a Baratheon. A Baratheon married a Tyrell. A Tyrell married a Stark. A Stark married a Lannister. They're _all_ well connected." He sighed. "Which brings us back to the beginning. My father will be instrumental in ensuring a peaceful transition. It seems he may be willing to give you that but...If you were to put him on trial, it would mean war."

"I can only deal with one war at a time," Daenerys murmured. "This conflict with the Dead consumes all of my attention. You did not see them but I did. Their forces seemed to stretch on for miles."

"I suppose if they kill us all, the future conflicts won't matter." Tyrion sighed.

"No...but let's assume that they will." Daenerys looked up from her hands. "I want you to go to your father and deliver a message for me."

Tyrion really would have rather _not_ gone anywhere near his father, but he did not protest. "And what's that?"

"Tell him that I will give my full assistance in this war-all of my armies and my dragons. In exchange, he will guarantee me a peaceful transition onto the throne," Daenerys said. "If he does not, I will burn his house to the ground."

Tyrion swallowed hard. "This seems to be a message that an envoy could deliver."

"Perhaps," Daenerys said. "But I need you to do it. Because I only trust you to read your father and tell me whether or not his intentions are false.

Tyrion exhaled. "Very well, my queen. I will go at once." He took a step back. "You...will not mind if I borrow a few unsullied guards?"

Daenerys gave him a small smile. "No. And if anything happens to you, I promise you will be avenged."

Tyrion nodded once. "Thank you, your grace. That is comforting to know."

* * *

 _ **A/N: I'll have a long Tyrion and Tywin conversation next chapter, as well as a scene with Arya and her three brothers! In the meantime I hope you enjoyed this long awaited conversation. Also, a thank you, cause y'all dropped like 60 reviews on the last chapter which is far and away the most reviews I've recieved in one sitting. Apparently its all the chapters with Tywin being badass that get you guys to review lol. Soooo, with that review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	89. Chapter 89: Counter Offer

_**A/N: Alrighty, got some really fun convos in this chapter, most of which involve Tywin, which is what a lot of you are here for. Hope that you all enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 89: Counter Offer**

Arya went on a long search throughout the Red Keep to find Robb to warn him about the dragon. Eventually she found him in the garden, not alone, but with Bran and Jon as well. All three of her brothers had grouped together beside the snow covered maze, talking in low voices. The anger on Robb's face was clear.

"-don't understand how that could happen," Robb said. "How did she fall into such a trap?"

"She wished to see the numbers of the dead and she thought she would be safe in the air," Jon said. "When the clouds came in, she went lower so that she could see. The Night King was waiting there, staring right at her, like he expected her to come."

Arya stopped beside Jon. "Are you talking about the dragon?"

Jon jumped a bit. "Gods, Arya, you startled me." He shook his head. "Yes, but...keep your voice down. I was told not to speak of it."

"By the dragon queen, I expect," Arya said. "It doesn't matter. Lord Tywin already deduced it."

"And Bran saw it happen through his ravens," Robb said. "Now the Night King has a dragon at his disposal. This could doom us all but especially the north, and Daenerys Targaryen told you to keep it a secret?"

"I don't think she meant to keep it indefinitely," Jon said.

"Aye. Perhaps she meant to wait until after we bent the knee," Robb said. "She should have known that your loyalty is to the north _not_ her."

"The north is why I came to find you," Arya said. "Lord Tywin says you should send a raven at once to every house you can and tell them to evacuate south. We don't know how long we have until the dead cross the wall. With a dragon, I fear we've made it easier for him."

"We have," Bran murmured. "And it won't be long now. He's nearly ready."

Arya swallowed hard, looking to Jon. "You never saw the white walkers with javelins before?"

"I saw them, but I thought they were just...spears." Jon shook his head. "I never thought that the white walkers had such capabilities."

"They have good aim, yes," Bran said. "But it's more than that. The Night King did know that she was coming. He saw it. He prepared."

"Saw it?" Robb asked.

"He's a green seer like me," Bran said, rubbing his fingers across the clasp of his cloak. "He can see through the eyes of animals. He can see into the past. He can see bits and pieces of the future. Not as well as I can...but our magic comes from the same place. From the Old Gods and the Children of the Forest. He's just...twisted into something darker."

Robb let out a breath. "So our enemy can see the future and our every move."

"No...not every move. He can't see this far south. Not yet." Bran looked up at Robb. "But you should listen to Arya. Evacuate the north. All of the north. Winterfell as well."

"You want us to abandon Winterfell?" Robb asked.

"Leave a small garrison if you must. But we will not have time to fortify it or to move every army north in time. And it is not large enough to contain the armies of Westeros," Bran said. "Besides, the dead have not come to claim castles. They came to claim the living. If there are no living in the north to claim they will keep moving. It will buy us some time to prepare a better defense."

"But wait..." Arya said. "You say that you can see the future. Does that mean..." she was almost afraid to ask the next question. "Do we have any hope of winning?"

Bran turned to look at her with eyes that seemed so very old and distant. "I see bits and pieces. None of it is certain. I only know for sure that the wall will fall. What happens afterwards...there are many possibilities, depending on how the Night King moves. We must be prepared for all of them."

"All right then." Arya turned to grasp Robb's arm. "Go on. Write to mother. Write to all of the lords as quickly as you can." She glanced at Jon. "You should help him. The faster you all write the better."

Jon swallowed hard, nodding. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be wise to get a clear view of the Night King's numbers. I didn't expect-"

"It doesn't matter now. It's done," Arya said. "Do you have an estimate of his forces at least?"

"Close to two hundred thousand," Jon said. "But it will grow if the wall falls."

"Not if we get everyone off the wall first," Arya said. "Go. Write. But don't tell any of them about the dragon. We don't want to cause any more of a panic."

Robb nodded. "You should tell Lord Tywin to include a space for Bran at any war council we have. We'll need him."

"I will," Arya said. "Like Bran said. The future isn't set in stone. There is hope. We're going to find the future where we win."

Her voice sounded strong, but she knew it was only masking the fear that she felt. Bran did not see certain death but neither did he see certain success. If they made too many mistakes, everyone she loved would die in the winter. As she watched her brothers go, she felt herself shaking and the three fingers of her right hand twitched.

"Arya," Bran murmured. "I have something for you."

She turned and saw a dagger in his hand. It had the most beautiful dragon bone hilt and when he pulled it from its sheath, it gleamed in the light of the setting sun. Valyrian steel. It had to be. "I...what is this?"

"A dagger that was meant to kill me...a long time ago," Bran said. "I'd like you to have it. I won't be able to use it against the dead, but you might."

"I already have a valyrian steel weapon," Arya said. "You'd be better off giving it to Robb."

"He won't need it," Bran said. "And he's never practiced much with knives. Take it."

Arya tentatively grasped the knife in her mangled fingers, pulling it close to her chest. "Thank you, Bran. I'll keep it close."

"Be sure that you do," Bran said, and in his tone, it felt like something of a warning.

* * *

The last time Tyrion was in the offices of the Hand of the King, his father was sending him away to Essos to take the blame for a crime he did not commit. Strangely, the undeserved exile was something of a kindness coming from Tywin Lannister. He could have just as easily executed Tyrion for the crime. Then he would be rid of him forever.

He wondered if his father regretted that small mercy now that Tyrion had returned home with Daenerys Targaryen.

Tyrion did not want to speak with his father alone. He did not want to climb the steps or step back into the room where so many arguments occurred. He did not want to look his father in the eye. It was only his pride as a Lannister that drove him forward. Pride and spite. He did not want his father to have the pleasure of unsettling him.

He knocked on the door twice and waited. His father's voice came from inside. "Come in."

Tyrion let out a breath then glanced at his guards. "Wait out here. If he murders me, please avenge my death."

The unsullied nodded and stood at attention. Then Tyrion closed his eyes, sent up a silent prayer for strength to whatever god would hear him, and entered the room.

His father was sitting at his desk, turning something in his hand. It took Tyrion a moment to recognize it as a Cyvasse piece. A king with a cracked crown. It had once been one of Arya's favorite pieces and now his father was rolling it between his fingers.

 _She really did convince him to play the game,_ Tyrion thought. _Strange._

Tywin noticed Tyrion and set the piece back on the desk with a sharp 'clack'. "Did your queen send you?"

"She did," Tyrion said. "With a message."

"Deliver it then," Tywin said in a disinterested voice as he shuffled through some of the papers on his desk. Tyrion knew his father was only feigning apathy in order to rile him, yet still his tone stung. It always stung.

"Queen Daenerys wishes to offer her full support and the support of her allies in the war against the dead," Tyrion said. "In exchange, when the war is over, you will deliver the peace you promised or..." he paused, thinking of how to better phrase the threat. "Or there will be consequences."

The shadow of a cold smile passed over Tywin's face though he did not look up from his work. "I doubt those were the words she used."

"Fire may have been mentioned," Tyrion admitted.

"She does readily embrace that part of her House," Tywin said. "And if I disagree to this proposal, will she withdraw her help?"

"No. She will help regardless," Tyrion said. "I believe she's just making sure you understand that if you go to war with her afterwards...she will respond in kind."

"Yes, that does seem a bit obvious," Tywin said flatly.

"Right...well I'm just the messenger." Tyrion took a step back toward the door. "If there's nothing else I think I'll just-"

"No." Tywin rose from his desk crossing over the side table at the wall and pouring himself a goblet of wine. "Don't go just yet."

Tyrion lifted his chin, feeling suddenly nervous. "You can't give me orders anymore, Father. I believe you gave that privilege up when you exiled me."

Tywin turned to face him. Then to his surprise, he extended the cup of wine toward Tyrion. "It was a request. Not an order."

"Ah." Tyrion swallowed hard, looking nervously at the goblet of wine. What was his father's play here exactly? "Everything sounds like an order coming from you." He glanced up at him. "Is it poisoned?"

"You're the second person to suspect me of poisoning their drink today," Tywin said. "I've never _poisoned_ anyone in my life."

"I don't think you would consider yourself above poison. You're a practical man and poison is an effective solution," Tyrion said.

"None the less, it's not poisoned," Tywin said. "If I wanted you dead, I could have left you to Cersei years ago."

"Fair enough." Tyrion slowly accepted the glass and took a long swig. He desperately needed wine to survive this conversation, poisoned or not. "You must regret that now. Letting me go."

"I imagine your queen would have found her way to Westeros with or without your help," Tywin said, pouring a goblet for himself before crossing back to his desk. "She doesn't need you to wage war. Not when she has three dragons." He sat down again. "Or two dragons, I should say."

Tyrion sighed drawing up a chair in front of his father's desk and taking a seat. "I knew it would have been better for her to just bring the one."

"No, it's a good thing she didn't," Tywin said. "Now we're all on the same page regarding the Army of the Dead and have no need to kill each other before they arrive."

"No. We'll wait until _after_ they're dead to kill each other. Wonderful."

"Did I or did I not promise a peaceful resolution to the conflict?"

"You _promised_ it. I just don't think it's...possible," Tyrion said.

"And why is that?" Tywin asked.

 _Because the Dornish will not accept peace without your death,_ Tyrion thought. _And you will fight to keep living. So neither of you will give and the country will fall to war again._

But he didn't say any of that. He just shrugged and sipped his wine. If he alerted his father to his own death now, Daenerys would never get the chance to win any of the other lords to her side. "Westeros seems to favor war over peace more often than not."

His father scrutinized him for a long while and Tyrion felt a bit like a child again. His father had that power. Even though Tyrion was no longer under his thumb and a man grown by many years, that stare always managed to make him feel nervous. And yet there was something so odd about this meeting. His father had not yet hurled any insults at him. Not yet demeaned him for stupidity or traitorous motives. He had even given him a goblet of wine. It was suspiciously cordial behavior for the man who always so hated him.

 _He wants something from me,_ Tyrion thought. _He played nice with Daenerys too...because he wants something. I cannot give too easily to him._

"What is your judgement of Daenerys Targaryen?" Tywin asked at last.

Tyrion blinked. "I...my judgement?"

"Yes. Your judgement," Tywin said. "She mentioned that you had judged her to be a good queen. Why?"

Tyrion wondered for a moment if his father had ever asked his opinion on anything. It felt very strange and it took him a moment to get his thoughts in order. "She...seems a much better ruler than all the kings in my living memory." He shifted in his seat. "She has a stronger will than Tommen. She's kinder than Joffrey and a much better listener. She actually _wants_ to be queen, unlike Robert who had no idea what to do with the position. And Aerys...well, if she were like him, King's Landing would already be burning and I would likely be a pile of ashes back in Mereen." He tapped his fingers against the edge of his wine glass. "Beyond all of that, she has a good heart, which I know isn't particularly important to you but...it's important to many other people. I believe she would be good for Westeros."

Tywin raised his eyebrows. "Would burning several houses to the ground if she doesn't get her way also be good for Westeros?"

Tyrion sighed. "She's a proud woman. Of course she is. Her name and claim is all she really has and when it is threatened, she lashes out. It's not as if _you_ can speak against that. Just look what happened with the Reynes when they questioned Lannister authority." He sat forward in his seat. "She's come up from nothing. She was completely alone in the world and she clawed her way up the mountain. Gained dragons. Gained armies. Gained loyalty. It wasn't her name that did that, it was her. And now that she's so close to her ultimate goal...she can't set it aside. No part of her will allow it. She doesn't _want_ to destroy any houses. But she will if there is no other way. She would be a weak ruler if she let every lord and lady walk over her. We both know that."

"Perhaps," Tywin said. "And what happens if she wins the throne? What will she do then?"

"Rule in peace I hope. Work with the other lords and ladies to help Westeros through the winter. Help to unify the country again." Tyrion shrugged. "There has been so much to discuss with gaining the throne there hasn't been a lot of time to speak about what comes after."

Tywin studied him and Tyrion felt the desire to look away or harden his expression so that his father could not read his face. But that was a foolish notion. He wasn't lying or trying to hide anything. "And if she goes mad?"

"I don't think that will happen," Tyrion said.

"I didn't ask what you thought. I asked what if?" Tywin said. "Because you're wrong...when you said she's nothing like the Mad King. There's quite a bit about her that is just like her father. Her pride. Her impulsiveness. Her temper. Her ambition. She has a good heart now, but what happens to that heart as the years pass and she grows older and more paranoid and more captivated by the power of fire? It may not happen, but you can't tell me it's impossible."

Tyrion's jaw clenched. "If it comes to that...I will handle the situation before it goes too far. At least history is there as a warning."

"History will only be of any use to you if you heed it," Tywin said.

"I will," Tyrion said. "I'm not as much a fool as you might think."

His father said nothing to agree or disagree, which was somehow worse than an insult. Tyrion really had no idea how to read him right now. This was the longest they had ever conversed without devolving into a petty fight. It felt strangely like Tyrion was talking to his father as an equal...which meant it _had_ to be some kind of trap.

 _What in the seven hells is his game here?_

"So...perhaps you'd like to tell me why you're so certain that it will be war between us once the threat to the north is dealt with," Tywin said after a pause.

Tyrion blinked. "What?"

"You seem sure your queen is committed to peace. And you know that I'm not one to seek out a war I know I won't win," Tywin said. "So why are you certain we will go to war?"

 _Damn. This was what he wanted,_ Tyrion thought. "Daenerys does want peace but...well we don't know what will happen during the battle with the dead. She could lose enough soldiers to become an easier target and you could go back on your word. And you and Daenerys are hardly the only factions with a stake in all of this. There are...the Tyrells, the Starks-"

"The Dornish," Tywin finished for him.

Tyrion exhaled, lifting his goblet to his lips and draining the rest of the wine. _Fuck, why does he ask questions he can answer for himself?_

"I'm not a fool, Tyrion," Tywin said. "I know that the Dornish joined with Daenerys Targaryen because she offered them vengeance against House Lannister. They want me dead. They've always made that abundantly clear." Tywin tilted his head to the side. "And Jaime? Does your queen intend to execute him as well?"

"No. No she won't execute him. His life is much easier to argue for than yours," Tyrion said. "Daenerys knows her father was a tyrant and she knows why Jaime turned against him. She will show mercy."

"What of the West or Casterly Rock?" Tywin said. "I can't imagine she'll let him keep control of either."

Tyrion exhaled and stood from his seat, pacing back to the pitcher of wine. He desperately needed more of it. "If you're hoping to accuse me of trying to steal the Rock from Jaime, you're wrong."

"I didn't accuse you of anything. I asked you a question which you have refused to answer," Tywin said flatly.

"Yes," Tyrion said. "Yes, she plans to take the Rock from Jaime and give to someone else. Better to not have the Lannisters ruling the west anymore, I suppose. She'll pardon him at least, but I know that's not enough for you." He took a long gulp of his wine before he turned back to face his father. "So see, that's why we're doomed to fall back into war. Because the Dornish want you dead and you want the Lannister legacy to continue. There's no getting around it."

"Your peace loving queen must find this frustrating," Tywin said. His tone hadn't changed at all, as if not one bit of this surprised him. That only worried Tyrion more. It meant that his father had some sort of plan to handle the situation.

"Of course she finds it frustrating," Tyrion said. "If she could handle this without fighting the Lannisters she would. Because she wouldn't just be fighting the Lannisters would she? The Starks, the Tyrells, the Tullys, the Baratheons...somehow you've gotten them all on your side through threats and marriages. Or both. This is a bloody nightmare of a scenario."

"You're right. It seems we're poised on the brink of a war that will be nearly impossible to avoid," Tywin said calmly. Calmly. Tyrion could not _stand_ how calm he was right now. "So I want you to take a counter offer to your queen."

"And what's that?" Tyrion asked, raising his goblet to his lips again.

"She will make sure that Jaime inherits Casterly Rock and the title of Warden of the West," Tywin said. "And in return, I will willingly stand trial and face whatever judgement is served to me there."

Tyrion almost choked on his wine. He wasn't sure he had heard his father right. Perhaps he was drunker than he thought. But Tywin's face was dead serious when he looked up at him. "You're...is this a joke?"

"Have you ever known me as one to joke?" Tywin asked. "It's an arrangement that casts your queen in a favorable light. She can serve justice and mercy at the same time and paint herself as a hero."

"That's not...I know it's favorable for her but I'm confused why you would..." Tyrion couldn't help but stumble over his words. This was too outrageous to even think of. "This is some sort of trick to lull Daenerys into a false sense of security so you can kill her when she least expects it."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Tywin asked. "If she dies, her dragons are turned loose on the country. Her blood riders are honor bound to kill the culprit no matter what Westerosi law might state and will set the countryside aflame. Her unsullied will remain loyal and seek vengeance, the Dornish will blame me whether I am guilty or not. The Greyjoys will raid as many coastal villages as they can manage. Killing her solves none of my problems. It will still leave me with a war just a more chaotic one."

Tyrion's jaw clenched. What was he supposed to say? He had absolutely no idea. So often he relied on his words and quick wits but they utterly failed him here.

"In any war situation, the Lannister name dies," Tywin said. "No matter how I approach the conflict, that much is clear. I've told you many times before that it's the name and the legacy that matters. Not the individual. So I'll stay alive long enough to see to a peaceful transition and then I'll leave the rest to Jaime and Arya. It's not ideal, but it's the only possibility."

"I...don't suppose you've discussed this scheme with either of them, have you?" Tyrion asked softly.

His father's ensuing silence was telling. Of course he hadn't. Jaime would fight against such a plan. And Arya...gods, he had heard the worry in her voice when she had asked about his father's life. She had tried to hide it, but it was there.

"I'll give the queen your offer," Tyrion said at last. "But...if this is some sort of trick..."

"It's not a trick. And you know it," Tywin jerked his head toward the door. "Go. It's late and I'm tired."

He did sound tired. It was only just now that Tyrion realized how utterly exhausted his father looked. He had been fielding a great deal of conflicts for some time and now he was facing his greatest challenge yet. It was likely he would not even survive long enough to face execution. It was likely that none of them would survive long enough to see it.

At last, Tyrion nodded, setting down his empty goblet and stepping back toward the door. "I'll have an answer for you in the morning."

Tywin nodded once, already back to studying the papers on his desk. With a sigh, Tyrion slipped from the room and closed the door behind him. He stayed there, leaning against the door for a long while, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He had not expected his meeting with his father to go _at all_ in that direction. How was he supposed to feel about the certainty of his father's death when his father was such an awful, cruel man?

"Lord Tyrion?" one of the Unsullied asked. "Are you well?"

Tyrion nodded once. "Yes...we should return to the Queen."

* * *

Arya had not expected to run into Tyrion on the way to see Lord Tywin about Bran. She had assumed Tyrion would avoid his father like the plague. Indeed, he looked a bit shaken by the meeting and startled to see her. "Ah...Lady Arya. What brings you here?"

"I had something to bring to Lord Tywin's attention," Arya said. "You?"

"Delivering a message from my queen," Tyrion said.

"And?" Arya asked. "Will she agree to an alliance?"

"Yes, fully," Tyrion said. "It seems we won't be fighting opposite each other in a war after all."

Arya let out a breath, a grin of relief cracking over her face. "I have no idea how your father did that but I'm glad he found some way. I really didn't want to face dragons in battle."

"The dragons would not want to face you," Tyrion said. But his smile was strained and his voice thin.

"What's wrong?" Arya asked.

"Oh...nothing really." Tyrion shifted from foot to foot. "It's been years since I last spoke to my father and I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice."

"I hope he wasn't especially cruel," Arya said.

"No, no. Don't worry yourself over me," Tyrion gave her a little bow. "I'll...let you get on with your business then." Then he quickly slipped around her and continued down the hall with his guards.

Arya stared after him for a moment trying to decipher the hitch of his shoulders and the speed of his walk. Perhaps it was just a nervous energy that came from being in the same room as Lord Tywin, but he seemed to be hiding something.

She shook away the thought and continued on toward the Tower of the Hand.

Lord Tywin was leaning over the map of Westeros again, studying the northern portion of the country. He glanced up briefly when she entered before looking back down at the table. "Winterfell would have been one of the more defensible positions," he said. "But if the wall falls any time soon, we will not have time to properly reinforce it or relocate our armies there."

"Bran said the same thing," Arya said. "He said...a lot of things actually. I think you should speak with him about the strategy of this war."

"Why is that?" Tywin asked. "Is your brother a particularly strong tactician?"

"Well, he was always the best in his studies," Arya said. "But it's less to do with that and more with the fact that he's a green seer. Do you know that term?"

"I've heard it. I don't know what it is," Tywin said.

"It means he can...see things," Arya said. "He's seen things from one hundred years ago and further back. He can go other places without leaving his room." She sighed. "And because he's apparently the Three Eyed Raven, he can see bits and pieces of the future."

Tywin sighed. "Gods, you Stark children are a strange lot. Your tie with those dire wolves is odd enough. Now this."

"It's true," Arya said. "Bran knows things that he couldn't possibly know unless it was true."

"I'm not calling into question the truth of it. I've seen a dead man walk and a dragon fly. Nothing surprises me anymore," Tywin said. "So if he can see bits of the future, what does that mean? Has he seen us fail?"

"No. That is...the future isn't certain yet. It can be difficult to interpret," Arya said. "The problem is that the Night King is a greenseer as well, and can...also see bits of the future."

Tywin rubbed a hand over his forehead, looking so exasperated that Arya thought he might overturn the table with a flick of his wrist. "That does explain how he saw the dragon coming." He looked at Arya. "So what you're telling me is that we are fighting an enemy that can see our moves before we make them."

"Well not _exactly_ but yes, the Night King will be aware of at least some of our moves," Arya said. "Bran has been working day and night to figure out how to counter him and he has a plan. Multiple plans actually, depending on the futures. He didn't explain it all to me, so I'm not sure what they were. It's all still a bit confusing."

"Confusing? That seems to be an understatement." He let out a heavy breath. "I'll speak to your brother tomorrow before we convene at the Dragonpit again. There will be a war council of course, once we're all on the same page. I expect you to be there."

Arya could help but smile at that particular command. She had only stood in on one war council, and it was at Cornfield to strategize how to deal with Greyjoy raiders. During the Northern civil war, she had passed her plan along to Robb and Tywin beforehand. But now she could stand at the table with the others and it made her chest swell with pride. "I will be. Of course."

Tywin nodded once, pushing away from the map. "Good."

Arya circled the table, walking her fingers along the edge. "I...ran into Tyrion on my way here. Apparently we can expect Daenerys' full support in the Battle against the Dead."

"Yes. We can," Tywin said, leaning back against his desk.

"I have no idea how you managed that," Arya said. "It seemed impossible after the meeting."

"I promised her what she wanted," Tywin said. "A peaceful transition. None of the lords or ladies will be happy about it, but they would rather bend to a new queen and lose their families to dragon fire."

"So if we survive the dead...she will be queen," Arya said.

"She will," Tywin said.

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. "Margaery won't be happy about that."

"Queen Margaery already knew that it was a possibility," Tywin said. "She put up a strong front at the pit, of course. They all did, which was what I wanted from them. A strong front was the only way to force Daenerys Targaryen to negotiate. Still, Margaery and her child will at least inherit Storm's End. There are worse fates. But you know as well as I do that war will not end well for any of us."

"No. I'm glad," Arya said. "I don't know what I kind of ruler she'll be, but I can't take another war after this one. If we survive this one." She sighed. "She can't be worse than Joffrey."

"Hopefully not," Tywin said. "And if she is...perhaps you'll handle her the same way."

Arya's mouth twitched into a small smile. "I'll have to find another method. I don't have a Faceless man in my debt anymore."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Tywin said. There was something strange about his expression and tone that Arya could not name. He seemed to regret making peace as much as he was glad for it. She supposed Tywin Lannister was not one to easily admit defeat, nor did he often surrender power. He would only do it if there was no other way.

But at least it was almost over. They only had to survive one more war. One more great battle before a long awaited peace. Then maybe they would both have time to rest.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Well, I feel like I've been projecting this move super hard for several chapters because I'm a slut for foreshadowing and a number of you did guess it so yup! I'm going to wring angst out of this whole situation like there is no tomorrow. I hope none of you hate me, but you can let me know in the comments. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	90. Chapter 90: The Great War Council

_**A/N: Alrighty everyone. Welcome to Kallypso wrote a war council and spent a really long time trying to strategize stuff. Its a fun time. Hope you all enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 90: The Great War Council**

When Tyrion returned to Daenerys' cabin on her flag ship, she was still awake, looking over a map of Westeros. She had spent quite a lot of time doing that at Dragonstone, trying to memorize the terrain of the home she did not remember. The map before her was not quite as large or impressive as the table at Dragonstone, but still functional enough.

"You're back," she glanced up at Tyrion. "It seems you survived the encounter."

"Yes, your grace," Tyrion said.

"I'm glad," Daenerys looked back to the map. "Tell me, how long does it take to travel from here to the north?"

"It depends. If we are carting any sort of supplies, a month," Tyrion said. "It could be longer of course, if the snows grow worse. With a smaller force or cavalry the journey is shorter."

"I can't imagine we'll be able to use the north for our main attack then," Daenerys said. "If the Night King _can_ use..." She trailed off for a moment, as if she could not quite force herself to say her lost dragon's name. "If a dragon can bring down the wall, the dead won't wait for long."

"Likely not," Tyrion said.

"Which is the most defensible position then?" Daenerys said. "The Neck? It's quite narrow. It could keep the dead from spreading us too thin."

"The Neck is a possibility your grace," Tyrion said. "I might suggest the Eyrie as well, but the Dothraki would be useless there, and it does not seem that the Arryns wish to join with any of us in this war."

"I suppose we'll decide on a course of action tomorrow." Daenerys rolled up the map. "And what of your father? How did he receive my message?"

"He received it. He continues to insist he wants a peaceful resolution and I believe him," Tyrion said.

"Whether he wants peace or not, there's no way I can allow him to live when it's all said and done. It would be easy if I could, but after what he's done..." Daenerys trailed off. "Do you think he will keep to his peace once he knows he will be brought to trial?"

"Well...regarding that matter," Tyrion said. "He actually...well he already deduced the situation on his own. He knows perfectly well that your alliance with the Dornish is built on hatred of him and that they have demanded his demise."

Daenerys' brow furrowed. "And he still wants peace?"

"He made a counter offer," Tyrion said. "He will agree to stand trial and receive whatever judgement you give him. In return, you will pardon Jaime of all crimes and let him and Lady Arya keep the Rock and the title of Warden of the West."

Daenerys looked positively shocked by the offer. She slowly sank into her seat, contemplating Tyrion's words. He understood why she was confused and suspicious. It was a very advantageous proposal and a bit out of character for someone like his father. "And you're sure he understands what standing trial means for him?"

"He understands," Tyrion said.

Daenerys picked at one of her nails. "This offer could be a trick I suppose. It seems too good to be true."

"I thought the same thing at first," Tyrion said. "I thought it _must_ be part of a clever plot. My father is not the type to volunteer his own life. But he wasn't lying. I know that for sure." He paced around the table. "He's making this play because he wants Jaime and Arya to inherit the Rock. He wants them to maintain their status after he's gone. To carry on his legacy."

Daenerys considered the notion for a long moment. "And? You know your father better than I do. What should I do with this counter offer?"

"Accept it. Please," Tyrion said. "If you don't it _will_ be war between us all and a bloody one. Accept the deal but don't tell the Dornish. They won't like my father dying on his own terms."

"You want me to lie to my allies?" Daenerys asked.

"Not lie," Tyrion said. "You can tell them the truth. That Tywin Lannister will pay for his crimes. That's all they want in the end." Tyrion took a step toward her. "You sent me to speak to my father because you trusted my judgement of him. This is my judgement."

Daenerys studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Then I trust your judgement. I'll accept his offer. Provided that we survive the Army of the Dead, he will stand trial for his crimes. But not until I name his son Warden of the West." She exhaled. "Some may see it as weak to let your brother keep his titles...but I'll take that risk if it means keeping the peace."

Tyrion let out a breath. He was relieved and yet not all at once. It was a strange thing, after all, arranging the death of one's own father. But at least it ensured Jaime's position. Jaime and Arya would be secure under Daenerys rule...even though Tywin would be gone.

 _They must not find out about this either,_ Tyrion thought. _Not yet. Especially not Arya._

After all, Arya had once killed a king to save someone she cared about, even though she knew she might suffer consequences for it. She may be willing to kill dragons as well.

* * *

A decade ago, Tywin could not have imagined becoming so acquainted with the Stark family. He never liked Ned Stark, not from the moment they first met, and he had no interest in any of his offspring. He had assumed, of course, that his children would all be just as troublesome and obsessed with honor as him. A thorn in Tywin's side, perhaps, but not potential allies.

However, the Stark children had been some of the most surprising people he had ever met in his life. Robb Stark had crushed him in battle after battle despite never having gone to war in his life, and now was one of the strongest and most effective leaders in Westeros. Sansa Stark, who once seemed a fragile waif, had proven exceptionally clever during the Winterfell civil war, and her quick thinking had saved many of her people. And Arya...well, Arya was a different story entirely.

But the one Stark child he had not quite figured out was Bran Stark. He left very little impression on him in Winterfell. Tywin recalled the boy asking for permission to venture to the Wall for reasons he refused to explain, but he did not remember much else.

Now, it seemed the youngest Stark child had become a very important player in this game, and perhaps the most surprising of all his siblings, given his new abilities.

He did not look his age. Though he was barely a man grown, his expression was ancient and he sat as still as a statue in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. He barely even blinked. Tywin had never known almost anyone to be so still, much less a boy of seventeen.

"Lord Tywin," Bran said when he stopped beside his chair. "This is a surprise."

"If I understand your new condition correctly, I don't believe it is," Tywin said.

A shadow of a smile passed over the boy's face, but it did not reach his eyes. "I can't see everything you know. It's not that simple or clear."

"So I've heard," Tywin said. "It may not be clear, but according to your sister, this sight of yours could be useful to us."

"It could," Bran said. "At least, I know some of the ways the Night King could move and I know what he wants. That's the most important thing isn't it? Knowing what an enemy wants...so you can keep it from them." Bran glanced up at Tywin. "Or give it to them."

Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly. "How many recent negotiations have you been listening in on?"

"All of them," Bran said. "I have no choice. They all affect the future as well."

Seven hells, the boy was like Varys but one hundred times worse. He could listen into meetings and conversations without even being in a room. A valuable ally, but a very dangerous enemy.

"You made the right decision," Bran continued on. "Not only your offer but keeping it from my sister. She cannot know yet. Not until the Night King is defeated."

"If he is defeated," Tywin said. "No one else can know either, so I don't recommend trading that information."

A shadow of the smile passed over the boy's face. "I don't trade information for profit. I use it where it's needed...to ensure that time goes on passing."

Tywin studied Bran Stark carefully. Everything about his face, his eyes, his expression...it was unsettling. Tywin could not remember the last time he felt unsettled in any conversation. But somehow he knew, without testing him, that this boy could lay his entire life in front of him if he wished.

"You said you know what the Night King wants," Tywin said at last. "What is that?"

"Me," Bran said, rolling down his sleeve to reveal a bluish mark on his arm in the shape of a hand print. "And that is a piece of information we must use very wisely."

* * *

The Long Night War Council was perhaps the first of any gathering to have so many great families standing on the same side of a conflict. Every region was represented in some way, from the North to Dorne. Only the Arryns were absent. They had been sent a raven, of course, urging them to prepare for war, but they had received no reply. But besides Lysa and her sickly son, all sides were represented around the table. Arya had never pictured such an alliance...never in her wildest dreams.

Robb represented the north, and Jon and Bran stood on either side of him, since they both knew more about the threat than most. Arya's Great Uncle Bryden and Uncle Edmuere represented the Riverlands. Yara Greyjoy represented the Iron Islands. Olenna Tyrell, as well as her son Mace and her grandson Willas, represented the Reach, and Sansa stood beside her husband. Margaery represented the Baratheons and the Crown. Oberyn represented Dorne. And of course, Jaime and Arya represented the west.

Daenerys stood as the last Targaryens along with her chief advisors, including Tyrion, Jorah Mormont, Barristan Selmy and Missandei. The general of the Unsullied, Greyworm, and the general of the Dothraki, whose name Arya had not yet learned, also had a place at the table.

It was clear to everyone in the room, of course, that Tywin was the one in control of this war council. Regardless of the strength of Daenerys armies, she was unfamiliar with the terrain of Westeros as well as the capabilities of most of the armies. And she seemed wise enough to defer, for now. After all, she was not yet the Queen of Westeros. She had agreed to wait until after the Army of the Dead was defeated to receive the crown.

"At present, our numbers are approximately even with that of the Dead," Tywin said. "Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow went north a fortnight ago and glimpsed the army from the air. They have over two hundred thousand foot soldiers, along with other creatures of the north. Apparently there are giants among them, though fortunately not many." Those around the table shifted nervously at the thought. For a long time, giants and white walkers had been no more than stories to frighten children with just before bed. They were not supposed to be real. "However, their numbers will only grow with time. The Night King can add any fallen soldier or civilian to their army. It won't matter if that civilian has never held a sword day in their life. They will fight as hard as any of the other soldiers. If they gain enough new recruits, numbers alone will overwhelm us."

"We've already begun an evacuation of the north," Robb said. "Starting with those closest to the wall. All lords have been instructed to leave only a small garrison behind to defend their keeps and continue south. Naturally, we won't be able to save everyone. We may miss smaller villages and some could refuse to leave. But we can at least minimize the death toll."

"Won't the small garrisons be useless?" Daenerys asked. "No matter how small, they'll still add more men to the Night King's Army."

"Not necessarily," Bran said. "It is possible that the Night King will avoid small encampments. He does not care about claiming castles."

"We speak as if the Night King has already crossed the wall," Mace Tyrell spoke up. "I thought this was exactly why the wall was built-to keep out the white walkers. Why are we so sure it will fail now?"

Tywin did not reply but rather looked to Daenerys, passing the burden of the explanation to her. Daenerys kept her expression calm though she raised her chin slightly. "While we were surveying the enemy, my dragons and I were caught in a sudden cloud bank. And when we found our way out of it, the Night King was waiting. He took down one of my dragons with a single throw of a javelin. So now the Army of the Dead has a dragon at their disposal."

Muttering swept across the war council as the lords and ladies took in this news. For some, the news of the dragon brought panic. For others, anger. Daenerys bore it in silence.

"Seven fucking hells," the Blackfish muttered. "They were hard enough to fight without a bloody dragon and you handed them one just like that?"

"There is no way the queen could have known such a thing would happen. And a survey of the enemy was necessary," Tyrion spoke up. "Would you have preferred to face the army blind?"

"If I knew they didn't have a dragon?" the Blackfish asked. "Aye, maybe."

"What's done is done," Tywin said in a commanding voice that once again silenced the room. "But with the dragon, the fall of the wall is assured. Which means we stop the Night King before he claims the entirety of Westeros. We are taking the defensive approach. There will be no meeting him head on in battle. And how we defend will depend entirely on how the Night King moves."

"The Night King has two goals," Bran said. His voice was surprisingly commanding and drew the attention of everyone around the table. "One, to take every living soul in Westeros as his own. Two...to destroy me."

"Why does he want you?" Daenerys asked.

"The three eyed raven is the memory of this world," Bran said. "Everything that has happened, I hold in me. If he kills me, he erases it...and all that will be left to remember is the cold. An endless night. An endless winter." His fingers rubbed along the arm of his chair. "Besides that, I am the greatest threat to him. The only other green seer who can match his strength. His conquest of Westeros becomes much easier once I am gone."

Arya felt a chill go through her at the thought of the Night King getting anywhere close to her little brother, and her jaw clenched. "Then we'll hide you somewhere safe. Somewhere that the Night King is unlikely to find you."

"It won't matter. He will always find me," Bran rolled down his sleeve to reveal his arm. There was a bluish bruise there in the shape of a hand as if someone had grabbed him too tightly. "His mark is on me. He knows where I am no matter where I go."

"He won't get anywhere near you," Arya promised.

"Regardless, since we know what the Night King wants, we can use it to our advantage," Tywin said. "There are many directions in which this conflict could proceed, and we must be prepared to fight multiple different wars if they come. Any gaps in our defenses will prove disastrous and every lost battle will drastically decrease our chances of success. This is different from any wars we've fought in the past. In those, at least, the dead stayed dead." He scanned the room. "Reckless heroism and impulsive attacks will kill us. So do not entertain any such plans."

No one spoke for a long moment, but they all seemed to absorb the severity of the situation. Every single one of them knew that if they fell in the battle to come, they could rise again and killed their allies, their friends...even their family. In most wars, one could lay down their life and hope that the living could make good use of their sacrifice. Now, even dying in battle seemed like a betrayal.

When no one protested, Tywin looked to Bran and gave him a nod. Bran rolled a bit closer to the table. "There are three possible strategies the Night King might take. The first and the most unlikely is the slow approach. When the wall falls, he could cover every inch of Westeros in his men, taking the living one at a time and adding them to his forces. We will know quickly if this is his plan because he will spread out and he will stop to kill even the smallest northern garrisons."

"Why is this the most unlikely approach?" Willas Tyrell asked. "If the Night King is confident in victory, he would have no need to rush. And it would ensure he had the largest possible force before he ever met with our armies."

"By the time he crosses the wall, most of the north will be cleared away. His gains will be minimal," Bran said. "And the longer he takes on the march the more time we have to prepare. We could carve off pieces of his army little by little and retreat a bit further each time. And the Night King is _not_ confident in his victory. Not quite. He won't be until I am dead. However, if this is his approach, we will make our first stand before he reaches the Neck."

"Moat Cailin seems the obvious choice," Robb said. "If we attack them while their army is spread out, we'll fall. But to cross the neck, they will clump together again. We could launch an assault from there."

"Would we have enough time to fortify it?" Jon asked. "The dead don't need sleep or rest, so they travel faster than a standard army."

"In this strategy, they would be taking their time to cover all of the north and the north is vast," Robb said. "We would have time. Regardless, we'll know soon if we should fortify Moat Cailin or leave it with a small garrison like the others."

"Yes. If the Dead pass the first few northern keeps without bothering to launch an assault, that means they are focused on confronting our unified forces first," Bran said. "They'll move more quickly, and the goal will be to wipe out any large armies to make the remaining conquest of Westeros easier."

"It will still be best to make a stand in the Neck if that is the case," Tyrion said. "The trident will halt them or at least force them to go around."

"So if we want to stop them at the rivers, we garrison the Twins," Bryden said. "Nice of the Freys to mostly die off and leave it to us."

"And if one tower is overwhelmed, we can pull back to the second. Retreat by sea if we must," Yara said. "That way if we do fail, we can at least salvage some of our forces for a counter attack."

"We could also keep a steady wave of reinforcements coming," Olenna said. "They don't need sleep, but we do. We would need to replace soldiers on the walls often. Can't have anyone falling asleep during this siege."

"And what's the third possibility?" Arya asked. "If they don't stop for small garrisons and they don't stop for a very large one...what then?"

"Then it means the Night King is marching south for me specifically," Bran said. "That I am his primary goal and that the rest of his attack can wait until after I am gone. If so, wherever I am, he will find me. Wherever I am, that's where he'll take his armies...and he will kill anyone who stands in his way."

"And if that is the case, we would need to place Brandon Stark well," Tywin said. "Preferably in a defensible keep large enough to garrison our forces and strong enough to repel the vast majority of the Night King's foot soldiers. And it would need to be far enough south that we have time to prepare."

"South of the Neck, I assume," Margaery said. "And what castle would serve that purpose? With all of us standing together, we have a great deal of men. And King's Landing is out of the question. It's too far south."

"We would never be able to evacuate King's Landing in time," Sansa agreed. "Luring an undead dragon to the most populated city in Westeros would not be a wise course."

"No, King's Landing is out of the question," Olenna said. "But I don't suppose there are many here who would volunteer their own keeps for the job. After all, even if we survive the attack, the damage would be great. Certainly we must keep the dead out of the Reach unless we want the country to starve."

"Harrenhal," Bran murmured and everyone stared at him in surprise. "Harrenhal is the best place."

There was a doubtful silence that filled the room and Arya's brow furrowed as she considered the cursed black castle. Harrenhal had passed often between houses in the past few centuries, and it had fallen into disrepair since the day Aegon the conqueror set upon it. She remembered it well enough. It was there that she had lost her freedom some six years ago when Tywin Lannister first discovered her name.

"Why Harrenhal?" Jaime asked at last. It was the first time he had spoken up in the war council. In fact, it was the first time he had spoken up in any meeting in the past few days. "It's large enough, of course, but crumbling in many places."

"Crumbling...but useable," Arya murmured. "It's been some time since I've been to Harrenhal. Many years, but unless things have changed, I think Bran might be right. The walls are weaker at the top, but they're still much higher than the walls of most keeps. And even though the towers were broken down by Aegon's attacks, they're the tallest towers I've ever seen. It's easy to think of it as vulnerable because its changed so many hands in the past few centuries. But that was because no one wanted it. Too expensive to maintain, too large to garrison with one single army."

"And cursed," her uncle Edmuere spoke up. "If there's any keep in this country that is haunted, it would be that one."

"Tell me we're not speaking of ghost stories," Bryden muttered.

"We're preparing to fight dead men," Edmuere retorted. "Why are we so suddenly doubtful of ghosts?"

"I assure you, Harrenhal is not cursed," Tywin said. "Just unlucky. Fortunately, we're not trying to hold the castle for many years. We're only using it as a battle ground." He glanced down at her. "It's as Lady Arya said. The walls are falling apart, but every one of them is standing. It will be the only keep that can support most of our men behind the walls. The weak points can be fortified before the Night King arrives."

"Dangerously far south as it is, it's near enough for us to keep well supplied with resources," Olenna said. "We'll be able to transport food from the Reach their quickly."

"And Dragonstone will be able to supply more dragon glass every day until the Night King arrives," Daenerys said. "How large are the smiths of Harrenhal?"

"Larger than most," Tywin said. "But we'll have the smiths of the nearby keeps working day and night to forge enough weapons."

"We're forgetting something, aren't we?" Willas asked. "Harrenhal may be built to withstand land attacks but the Night King has a dragon now."

"Every keep in the world is vulnerable to dragons," Daenerys said. "And even if the Night King has one dragon, we still have two. If I keep Drogon and Rhaegal in a tight circle around the keep, they should be able to intercept the wight dragon."

"We need not rely only on the dragons," Oberyn said. "The towers of Harrenhal brush the sky and they are ideal for siege weapons. If we can set scorpions at the top and arm them with dragon glass bolts, perhaps we can lure the wight dragon to its death."

"We'll want siege weapons on all of the walls," Bryden said. "Scorpion's yes, but also catapults and trebuchets. These wights are vulnerable to fire, yes? We'll rain fire on them. That should make a dent in their numbers."

"We can use fire elsewhere as well," Grey worm spoke up. Despite a heavy accent, he had a clear command of the common tongue. "Can we dig trenches around this castle?"

"It would take a great deal of man power, but yes," Tywin said.

"We have man power," Greyworm said. "Trenches can be made to be set on fire and hold back the dead men for as long as possible."

"At least one trench would be a great help," Barristan Selmy speculated. "Two if we can manage it. Whatever helps keep them back."

"I'm sure the trenches will only buy us time. But that's what we need," Jon said. "We should fortify the tops of the walls with dragon glass spikes. It will help keep the dead from climbing them."

"Are these dead men such gifted climbers?" Oberyn asked. "No man could scale such a wall."

"Not alone, maybe. But if they must pile on top of each other, they can and will. They have no regards for their own lives," Jon said. "We can't think of them like normal soldiers. They will do whatever they are commanded to do without thought and they cannot feel pain. A pile tall enough to surpass the walls of Harrenhal? I think it would be an easy task for them."

"We'll fortify the walls all the way around then, and keep them well manned," Tywin said.

"And what about Bran?" Arya asked. "If the Night King is looking for him, he'll need to be at the safest place in Harrenhal. Where is that? Is there any place under ground?"

"There is," Bran said. "But I won't go underground. I'll wait in the Godswood."

"You'll be exposed there," Jon said. "If the dragon flew overhead-"

"It may fly overhead, but I must be in the Godswood," Bran said. "Harrenhal has quite a large one, located behind the walls. It's defensible enough. But even if it wasn't, I must wait there. Believe me."

"Why?" Yara Greyjoy spoke up. "Why exactly should we believe you? Most of us don't know who you are, yet you claim to see the future and the past. It's a large claim to make."

Bran looked up at her, raising his eyebrows. "I can offer proof if you would like," he asked calmly. "Which awful moment of your life would you like to return to?"

Yara's lip curled and Arya gripped the table, feeling a sudden urge to stand between the Greyjoy woman and Bran.

But much to Arya's surprise, it was Jaime who spoke up. "We don't have time to press the boy for proof. And you wouldn't want him to give it here anyway. Unless you'd like him to spill your darkest secrets in front of the entire war council. He's the only one who truly knows the Night king. Trusting him is our best bet."

Arya looked from Jaime to Bran, her brow furrowed. She knew that Bran had remembered his fall, of course...but did Jaime know he had remembered? Had they talked? He seemed certain of Bran's abilities so if that was the case...

"There's another issue," Robb said, interrupting Arya's thought process. "Harrenhal is large enough and it may be the best location to mount a defense...but it is dangerously far south. It's not just the north we would have to evacuate but the Neck and the Riverlands as well. Perhaps parts of the West and the Vale if we can convince them to move from their places. How could we even begin to manage so many refugees?"

"If the Night King makes for Harrenhal with all haste, it seems to me he will avoid fanning out into the Vale or the West," Tywin said. "He would cover the map if he was mounting a slow approach, but if that is his play we would stop him long before he leaves the Neck."

"So suppose we only evacuate the North, the Neck and the Riverlands," Robb said. "That's still no small number of people."

"No," Jon agreed. "But we needn't move them all south. The dead can't swim. We could evacuate many to the nearest islands. It would give the fleets of Westeros something to do since they will have little use against the dead."

"Lady Greyjoy, you can see to that, yes?" Daenerys asked. "By the looks of this map, the Iron Islands are quite large. They could people safe for a time."

"Yes, your grace, they could," Yara said. "Assuming the dragon does not fly to every island and burn the people out."

"People on the islands would be useless to him," Bran said. "Even if he killed them, they couldn't cross the sea back to the mainland."

"It still doesn't seem wise to let the dead march south unimpeded," Margaery said. "The army will still grow in size no matter how many civilians we manage to save."

The Dothraki commander spoke up in his native tongue, glancing at Daenerys as he did. Missandei translated for him. "He asks if Westeros has many horses."

"Most of the major houses have some cavalry yes," Tywin said. "Not nearly as many as the Dothraki."

"And the dead?" Missandei asked. "Do they have horses?"

"Some," Jon said. "But not many. They don't have anything close to a true calvary."

The Dothraki commander leaned over the map, pointing out various locations on the map as he continued to speak while Missandei translated.

"Calvary can be used to wear down on travelling armies," she said. "Small groups can hide in trees or beyond hills and swoop in from either side, then retreat before the enemy has time to react. It lessens their force bit by bit over time."

"Horses can outrun the dead," Robb agreed. "We can tear at them from the side and from their flank all the way down the Neck if we must. Whenever one section of cavalry retreats, they can pass along information about the enemy's movements to the next grouping."

"Until they reach the Twins," Daenerys said. "It seems to me there is another problem. We would need to split our forces between the Twins and Harrenhal. That would leave us more vulnerable."

"The Twins and Harrenhal are close enough to provide reinforcements to each other," Tyrion pointed out. "If the Dead attack the Twins with the object of wiping out a large army, the armies of Harrenhal can ride to defend them...provided that the garrison can hold the Twins for a few days. If the Dead continue past the Twins and toward Harrenhal, then the soldiers in the Twins can pursue. Either way, our armies will end up united."

"And if for some reason the dead decide to attack both?" Jorah Mormont asked. "What if they mean to divide us?"

"They'll divide themselves as well then," Tyrion said. "It will be messy, no doubt, but at least only one half of the army will have the Night King."

"The Night King is the main threat yes, but not the only threat," Jon said. "There are other white walkers who command the dead along with him. They can be killed by dragon glass and valyrian steel, just like the wights. But they are stronger, faster and smarter."

"Killing them is beneficial to us," Bran said. "When a white walker falls, the wights it turned do as well. Killing a white walker destroys a portion of our enemy all at once. But for that reason, it is likely they will stay back from the battle until our forces are weakened. Above all, the main goal is the Night King. If he dies, they will all die. But he will not make an easy target."

"What will kill him?" Daenerys asked. "I assume dragon fire will cause him some harm."

"I don't know. I can't see for sure what will kill him," Bran said. "Perhaps fire. Perhaps dragon glass or valyrian steel. But he can be killed."

Tywin nodded once. "Then we will be prepared when reveals himself."

It was then that the strategy seemed to fall into place. There were perhaps one thousand details to work out in the coming days, and everyone knew that success was not guaranteed. But at the very least, they had a plan and for once, Westeros appeared to be a united front against the coming storm.

Because they all knew the truth. If their armies fell, whether at the Twins or Harrenhal, Westeros would be covered in a never ending night, and there would be no one left to remember all of the wars that came before.

* * *

 _ **A/N: In this story, Bran's role in strategizing is actually going to be clear, as you can tell. Because I don't know why D &D decided to make it look like he did nothing but it annoyed me. So welcome to Bran's game of five dimensional chess with the Night King.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoyed the chapter and the small character interactions that came before. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	91. Chapter 91: Return to the Riverlands

_**A/N: Welcome back everyone! Got some good stuff for you today, including some Tywin and Arya interactions. No Jaime and Arya moments in this chapter, but they will have more moments next time.**_

 _ **ALSO with regards to the idea of the Night King raising all of the dead in the north and Riverlands (as some have suggested) to join his army. I agree that would be an issue, but I've decided that even alive, skeletons are going to have a difficult time breaking through frozen ground. They don't seem to have super strength if them fighting the living is any hint, so I've decided that unless they are buried in shallow graves, they won't be rising to help the Night King. It could give him some additional numbers, but not at the level that some think. A few reviewers were concerned about this, so I thought I'd address it here.**_

 _ **Without further ado, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 91: Return to the Riverlands**

The war council set the entirety of Westeros in motion, perhaps as it had never been before. In all of the great conflicts about which Arya had read, there were never so many families and factions acting on the same side. Aegon's Conquest, the Dance of the Dragons, Robert's Rebellion...it was all a mad dash of various families to choose sides and to, hopefully, choose the winning side.

Now they had another enemy and it united them. Arya could not help but wonder how the books would write about this war if they survived. She could not help but wonder about the songs that would fill every corner of the country, if only there were singers left to sing them.

There were two main priorities: first, evacuating every living soul in the north and the Riverlands and second, fortifying the castles they would defend. Robb agreed that if Bran was right and the Night King intended to march quickly south, that he would stand at the Twins with the Northmen. The Tullys and the other family of the Riverlands naturally planned to do the same. Besides them half the Dornish and unsullied would provide support.

Meanwhile, at Harrenhal, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, and the other half of the unsullied and Dornish would prepare to intercept the army of the dead if they came directly for Bran. The Baratheon banners, or what was left of them, would guard King's Landing, which would be a hub of refugees. Granted, if the dead broke through the Twins and Harrenhal, King's Landing would be doomed, but they could not very well leave the city unmonitored, especially since it would soon be swarming with terrified people from the Riverlands.

The only faction without a concrete place to guard was the Dothraki. They were to be a mobile force, meant to carve off sections of the Night King's forces, along with the cavalry from other houses. They would move depending on how the enemy moved. Daenerys Targaryen seemed confident in the ability of her main commander to make that call.

The role of the dragons was the most up for debate. Their main directive would, after all, be the Night King, but they could not stray too far from the main army, for fear of falling into a trap without any support from the ground or leaving the army without defense. The question then, was whether or not Daenerys should keep her dragons at the Twins or at Harrenhal and the debate went on for some time. If she placed her dragons at the Twins, the Night King could sweep south and damage the southern keep, decimating half of their army. If she kept her dragons at Harrenhal, it could leave the Twins just as exposed. Harrenhal was the best location in case the Night King went for a bold attack on King's Landing, of course, but that was assuming the Night King would part from his army at all. Perhaps he would stay close and take a defensive position.

In the end it was Bran that offered a rather cryptic solution. "Start at the Twins," he said. "But follow your green dragon. Whichever direction he goes, you must go with him."

He did not explain further, either because he couldn't or he refused. But Arya wondered if Bran could warg into the minds of other creatures just as easily as he had once warged into Summer.

A fortnight after the war council, Bran announced that the wall had fallen when the dragon had broken through at East Watch by the sea. The words fell like a stone in the pit of Arya's stomach. Now they knew for sure that the dead were coming for them, and soon they would know how they meant to end Westeros. It was fortunate then that the evacuation of the north had already been in process. Bran reported that the last of the settlements north of Winterfell had evacuated a few days before and that their mother and Robb's children had reached the Neck. Certain knowledge of their safety was one bright spot in the midst of everything else.

While Robb and his men focused on clearing out the north and guiding them south or to the nearest islands, Arya decided to focus on the southern part of the Riverlands which would be evacuating to King's Landing. She took horses and a few Lannister men, including Merwyn and Thomas, off the main roads and into the depths of the forest. After all, she knew there were many smaller settlements in this area and she did not want to leave them to the wights. It took some convincing, of course, to get some of the smallfolk to leave. But small towns were often full of suspicious people. With the right words, anyone could be encouraged to pack up and move.

It would be a lie to say that the whole of Westeros was peacefully cooperating. Plenty of soldiers and some minor lords were trying to take advantage of this mass migration of small folk. They broke into their houses after they were gone or, sometimes, when they were still inside, using the chaos as an excuse to line their pockets. Arya came across more than one looted house in the woods and it infuriated her. As if the smallfolk of the Riverlands needed to suffer any more than they had already.

"Do you think it's the same group doing it?" she asked Merwyn. "Or multiple?"

"Hard to say," Merwyn said. "There are men from all sides who prey on the smallfolk. And all robberies look the same after their done."

Then, one morning, Arya heard a scream in the woods. She did not even pause before urging her horse forward, nor did she bother to wait for her men. A few moments, later she came upon a little cabin, surrounded by three soldiers. A woman and child were cowering next to a chicken coop and a man was on the ground with a bloody nose. The man standing over him-a thin man with golden hair-was counting a few measly coins from a pouch and the two soldiers behind him were snickering.

"You can't be weighed down on your way south," the man said. "We're just taking it off your hands."

"You'll do no such thing," Arya said, swinging from her horse. "Any man can carry a small pouch of coin. Give him back his money."

"And who are you to give me orders?" the thin man asked.

"Someone who will take your hand if you don't do as I ask," Arya said.

The lead soldiers and his companions reached for their swords just as her own companions broke from the tree line. Merwyn aimed a cross bow at the leader.

"Hands off your swords and step away from the lady," Merwyn ordered.

"Lady?" one of the soldiers shifted nervously. "What do you mean lady?"

"This is Arya Lannister," Thomas said. "You strike at her and you'll have Tywin Lannister to deal with...if she doesn't get to you first."

Their hands were away from their weapons faster than a blink. It still annoyed Arya that she so often had to rest on Tywin's name to get such a reaction, but she let it go, holding out her hand. "The money please," she said coolly.

The thin man handed it over without a second thought and Arya went to the man on the ground kneeling down in front of him. "It's all right. I apologize for their actions." She pressed the pouch into his hand. "Take it. Then gather all of your valuables and your family. You can ride with us to the main roads. From there, the journey to King's Landing will be easy enough."

The man nodded once. "I...th-thank you m'lady."

She gave him a smile then stood to face the soldiers, a distinctly less pleasant expression on her face. "Which house do you serve?"

"The Serretts of Silverhill," the lead soldier muttered.

"The Serretts. They're bannermen of House Lannister. I suppose its fortunate I found you then." Arya threaded her fingers together. "How many smallfolk have your robbed so far?"

"Just this one, m'lady," the man said.

"Just one _today_ , maybe. But I doubt this is your first." She glanced behind him at one of the other soldiers who was staring at the ground. "You. Answer me honestly. How many families?"

"Six...m'lady," the man murmured.

"I see," Arya said. "Merwyn, what is the punishment for theft in the west? Do you know?"

"Depends on the theft," Merwyn said. "But for six houses? Somewhere between a hand and a hanging."

"A hand or a hanging," Arya considered this. "Well, with the dead coming south I don't want to give them anymore soldiers. Nor do I want to take away any fighting hands." She looked back to the thieving soldiers. "I'll take two fingers from each of you then. One for each house you robbed. Don't worry, I'll take them from your weaker hands." She glanced at Thomas. "Will you see to it Tom?"

"Of course, m'lady."

"Wait, m'lady," one of the soldiers said. "Mercy. Please. We won't do it again."

"I am showing you mercy," Arya said. "More mercy than you showed any of these people. You would have let them starve on the road to King's Landing."

"What use are they dead or alive?" the thin man protested. "They don't fight against the dead. They cower and let us do the work. Who cares if they starve?"

Arya's eyes narrowed and she felt an icy fury roll through her. "Like I said. Six fingers." Then she turned and moved back to the waiting family. The woman and her daughter had come out from behind the chicken coop now and the girl was staring at her with fascination. Arya gave her a smile before looking to the mother. "Do you have a horse and cart? Something to carry your things?"

"We have a cart. Our donkey was taken a few days ago," the woman murmured.

"You can hitch your cart to one of our horses then," Arya said. She glanced down at the girl again. "What's your name?"

"Mary," the girl said.

"Have you ever ridden a horse, Mary?" Arya asked.

"Used to ride my donkey," Mary said. "But now he's gone."

"I'm sorry they took him," Arya said. "You can ride with me if you would like. My horse is a great deal taller than your donkey, but I'll make sure you don't fall."

The girl beamed and nodded.

"Go on Mary," her mother said. "Fetch your things from the house."

The girl scampered off and the woman turned back to Arya. "Bless you, m'lady. We didn't have much more to steal but what little we did have-"

"There's no need to thank me," Arya said. "They serve one of my house's bannermen. It's only right that I see them punished."

"A few fingers. Seems a fitting punishment," said an unfamiliar voice. Arya turned to see another group of men approaching, wearing non-descript clothing that did not tie them to any particular house. Arya's men drew their weapons and she rested a hand on her sword. But if this was to come to a fight it would be a close one. They had ten men and she only had seven including herself. The man at the lead wore an eye patch and an almost kindly smile.

"It's all right, m'lady," the woman said. "These aren't robbers."

"No," the man with the eyepatch said. "We belong to the Brotherhood without Banners."

"The Brotherhood," Arya repeated. "I know about you. Years ago, the Lannister men were looking for all of you. They were torturing everyone they could get their hands on for information."

"Aye. I'm sure they were," the man said. "Forgive me, but I couldn't help but over hear. Your name is Arya yes?"

"It is," Arya said.

"And before you were Arya Lannister, you were Arya Stark," the man said.

"I was. I still am," Arya said.

The man smiled. "My name is Berric Dondarion. I knew your father some years ago. He was a good man."

"Yes, he was," Arya said. "I remember your name. You were at court before he died. But I thought that you had died as well."

"I had," Berric said. "But the Lord of Light saw fit to bring me back."

 _The Lord of Light,_ Arya thought. That was the god Stannis Baratheon served. And it was the god of the woman who had brought Jon back from the dead. "And once your god brought you back, you stayed in the forest."

"Yes," Berric said. "Protecting the small folk. Someone has to. It's actually rather refreshing to see a lady take pity on them." A scream of pain echoed from the woods behind Arya-one of the soldiers having his fingers removed. "We probably would have hanged them too."

"Don't give the army of the dead anymore soldiers," Arya said. "We need all the help we can get."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Berric said. "That's why we're heading to Harrenhal. To give our aid. However, we hear that Tywin Lannister is in charge there. We may not be...accepted, given our history with the crown and the Lannisters."

"He's working with a great many of his enemies at the moment. I doubt he'll turn you away," Arya said. "However, if you worry about getting through the front gate, I can vouch for you. Provided your intentions are noble."

"They are, my lady." Berric gave her a little bow. "You are welcome to kill me again if they are not."

"Thank you. I will," Arya said. She glanced at her men who still stood at the ready with their weapons. "It's all right, put them away. These men will be travelling with us."

Thomas returned to her side, cleaning off his knife. She raised an eyebrow.

"Done?"

"Yes. Done," Thomas said. "I would show you proof but I did not think you would want to keep the fingers."

"Not particularly no," Arya said. She turned back to the Brotherhood scanning their men. They were all armed well enough, though they would need dragon glass weapons to be of any use against the dead. They were a strange lot, to be sure. One of them was drunk enough to be swaying a bit, and there was a giant of a man with his hood pulled up in the back of the group, peering at her from under the shadow of his cowl. There was something familiar about him.

"Is anything wrong, my lady?" Berric asked.

"That man in the back. Who is he?" Arya asked.

"I would tell you his name, but I'm afraid he's a fugitive from the Lannisters," Berric said. "And he's too good of a fighter to give to the noose."

A sudden realization struck Arya. Few men stood quite as tall as he did, and even beneath his hood, she could see some of the facial scarring. Bran's words returned to her.

 _The Hound is alive. Wandering with the Brotherhood._

"Sandor Clegane," she said. "That's you under that hood, isn't it?"

For a moment, the man didn't move. Then he drew back his hood, revealing his scarred face. "Aye. Surprised you remember me, girl."

"You killed a friend of mine," Arya said. "I will never forget that."

"A friend of yours," Berric said. "Who was he?"

"A butcher's boy. His name was Micah," Arya said. "I swore to myself a long time ago that I would pay you back for that."

The Hound's lip curled into a slight snarl. "Would you like to fight me for him right now? I don't think it will bring him back."

Merwyn aimed a crossbow at the man, his eyes narrowed. "Careful how you speak to our lady."

"Ah yes. Lady Lannister," the Hound said. "Last time I saw her she was snarling at the Lannisters like a wolf. Now it seems they tamed her."

Arya smiled coolly. "I'm still a wolf, Hound. And you wouldn't be the first dog I killed."

"Clegane, calm yourself," Berric ordered. "We're not here to pick fights." He looked to Arya. "I apologize for your friend, my lady. I'm sure he is not the only innocent Clegane killed. But we put him through a trial by combat for his crimes and the gods judged him not guilty."

"A trial by combat tests the best fighter," Arya said. "It doesn't test innocence. He won because he's strong and he knows how to use his sword."

The Hound barked out a laugh. "See, Dondarian, she understands it better than any of you."

Berric smiled. "If you mean to try him for the murder of your friend, I understand. But perhaps that can wait until after the dead are defeated. You did say something about not giving the dead more soldiers."

"I did," Arya agreed. She glared at the Hound for a long moment. "Keep your hood up, Hound. You won't want anyone seeing your face."

He glared at her before jerking his hood back over his head. Arya exhaled letting her anger go. In all likelihood, the Hound would die in the war to come. Then she would not have to deal with him anymore. She put on a smile and turned to Mary who had wandered back out of the house again.

"Well...are you ready to ride?"

She gave Arya a big smile and nodded, handing her things off to her mother. Then Arya took her hand and guided her toward her horse. There was no time to waste on the Hound. Not right now. There were still many more villages to pass before nightfall.

With the dead marching closer every day, Arya needed to focus on saving lives rather than taking them.

* * *

They spent the next few days in the woods, finding other families and encouraging them to join the march. By late afternoon two days later, Arya and her men had guided Mary's family and some others they had found to the main road. There was already a large caravan of other refugees passing by and Arya bid Mary and her parent's goodbye.

"Keep following these people," she told them. "They'll reach King's Landing in a few days. It will be crowded there but safe."

Mary nodded. "Thank you m'lady."

"Yes, thank you," the girl's father said. "We won't forget it."

Arya smiled and watched them go. Then she and her men continued on to Harrenhal, along with the Brotherhood without Banners.

"Is there only ten of you left?" Arya had asked. "That seems a very small number."

"Hardly," Berric said. "There are many more. But we would not come all at once to Harrenhal. First we must see if we will be safe there."

"You will be," Arya said. "I'll make sure of it."

"You seem certain that you can convince Tywin Lannister," Berric said.

"I'm a very convincing person," Arya said.

Merwyn coughed, hiding a smile behind his hand.

The sun had nearly set when they reached Harrenhal and it cast an almost red glow over the water of the God's Eye. All around the great black keep, tents were spread out for what seemed like miles, flying flags of countless houses. And supply carts were traveling east from Dragonstone and south from the Reach with weapons and food alike. It was amazing to see.

"What a strange sight," Berric said. "Harrenhal has always been a black mark on the land. A haunted place of ghosts." He laughed once. "I don't think it's ever been seen as humanity's last hope."

 _No,_ Arya thought. _Likely not._

* * *

Tywin had a great many matters to attend to at Harrenhal, so much so that he barely had a moment alone to himself. So he was not exactly thrilled to deal with an angry Lord Edmund Serrett in his tent, complaining about the fates of some of his soldiers.

"Three of my people are missing two fingers," he said. "One of them is my nephew. They say it was Lady Arya's men who removed them."

"Really? And did they say why?" Tywin asked.

"Apparently when they were trying to order the evacuation some small folk attacked them," Lord Serrett said. "They were only defending themselves, but the girl judged them for crimes they didn't commit."

"It must have been a fearsome group of small folk," Tywin said. "If they could strike fear into the hearts of fully armed soldiers."

"I don't know how fearsome they were. I wasn't there," Lord Serrett said.

"No. You weren't. Neither was I. But it seems to me that the lady carried out a sentence as she saw fit," Tywin sat back in his seat. "Considering that you are my bannerman, your soldiers fall under my jurisdiction."

"Your jurisdiction yes, my lord. Not hers," Lord Serrett said.

"She's my daughter in law. Before long, she will be your lady. You may as well practice taking orders from her now."

Lord Serrett's jaw clenched. He always was a proud man from a proud house. But he feared Tywin because he knew what he had done to the Reynes when they grew too ambitious. A hard word from Tywin was usually all that was needed to remind him.

Before the proud lord could respond, however, the tent flap brushed aside and Arya entered.

"What auspicious timing," Tywin said. "We can find out the truth of your nephew's claims right here and now, Lord Serrett."

Arya's eyebrows shot up. "Ah. Lord Serrett. I met a few of your soldiers a few days ago."

"Apparently you removed their fingers," Tywin said. "Why is that?"

"Thievery," Arya said. "One of the soldiers confessed they had robbed six houses. I took a finger for each one. It seemed a reasonable trade."

"For a few pennies stolen from smallfolk?" Lord Serrett sputtered.

"Pennies to the soldiers are worth a great deal more to the victims of the crime," Arya said flatly. "And in some places, the punishment for stealing is losing an entire hand. I believe I was more than generous. It's not too difficult to live without two fingers." She held up her right hand. "I've been doing it for a few years now."

Lord Serrett opened his mouth to reply, but Tywin cut him off before he could embarrass himself further.

"It seems that's settled. Lady Arya carried out a more than generous sentence," Tywin said. The man opened his mouth to argue but Tywin did not give him a chance. "You do realize Lord Serrett, what the purpose of moving the smallfolk south is, don't you? It's to keep the army to the north from gaining more soldiers." He stood, pacing around the small table. "Which means when our men cause trouble, the smallfolk doubt and they resist and they begin to think that this is all a fairytale we've created to steal what little valuables they have left. So they stay behind. They refuse and in a few moons they will join our enemy and march against us. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lord Serrett muttered.

"Good," Tywin said. "Then keep your men in line."

Lord Serrett's lip curled and he looked like he might want to say something more. But Tywin merely narrowed his eyes a fraction and all protests died on his lips. He gave Tywin a stiff bow. "Yes, my lord." He shot Arya one more withering stare which she met with a smile. Then he brushed from the tent.

The moment he was gone, her smile dropped and she turned back to face him. "I'm sorry about that."

"I don't think you're particularly sorry," he said.

"Well, not about what I did. Just that it caused trouble for you," she said. "It's as you said. We need to keep the peace. We don't need soldiers acting out and making it more difficult."

Tywin exhaled, circling back around his desk. "Yes, I'm sure that's exactly why you did it."

Her chin lifted just slightly. "Well, that's the reason you care about anyway."

Tywin exhaled. She was so constantly vexing, wasn't she? "Yes, that's the reason I care about. I also care that you're earning a strong reputation with the lords...if not a favorable one."

"Well, Lord Serrett didn't seem to like you very much," Arya said. "But he listens to you."

"Exactly," Tywin said. "You don't need to make friends with your bannermen. You only need to command their respect. Occasionally, you might do both."

"Right." Arya threaded her fingers together. She still had a slight nervousness about her. She hadn't come to his tent just to deal with Lord Serrett.

"Was there something else you needed to discuss?" he asked.

"While I was in the woods, I came across some more people who would like to fight for the living," Arya said. "But they don't have the best history with the Crown or the Lannisters. They want assurances that they won't be murdered if they come to Harrenhal to fight."

"And what is this group?" Tywin asked.

"The Brotherhood without Banners," Arya said.

Gods above, her talent for finding trouble knew no equal. "You ran into the _Brotherhood_? Just how deep into the woods did you venture?"

"I was trying to find the people everyone else would miss," Arya said defensively. "In any case, they didn't draw on me. Their leader, Berric Dondarion, he knew my father. He seemed to think fondly of him."

That wasn't a surprise. Ned Stark did have a talent for making friends, though only with people who shared his love of honor. And Berric Dondarion was certainly one of those, unless his time in the woods had changed him. "I see. And they said they wished to join the fight at Harrenhal?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Provided no one tries to execute them for any...past crimes."

"That would be a waste of good swords," Tywin said. "Of course, if they try to make trouble that would be a different story."

"I don't think they mean to make trouble," Arya said. "They've always cared about the smallfolk more than anyone else. The smallfolk will suffer and die if we can't stop the Night king."

"True enough," Tywin said. "Find them a place then. But they're your responsibility. If they cause any problems, that falls on you."

Her mouth twitched at that, almost as if she was happy to be given the responsibility. It was such an odd sort of reaction that Tywin had not yet grown used to. "Yes, my lord."

"In any case, I want you to stay close to Harrenhal from now on," Tywin said, circling back to sit at his desk. "A raven came from King's Landing today, from your brother. The Army of the Dead is only a few days from Winterfell."

Her brow furrowed. "And? Moving slowly or quickly."

"Quickly," Tywin said. "They've passed a few small keeps without attacking. If they continue at this pace, they'll reach the Twins within a moon's turn. Likely less. In a few days, the commanders of the various forces will meet here one last time before everyone disperses."

Arya let out a breath and nodded. "Right. It's...almost coming to an end then."

There was fear in her eyes, barely noticeable, but clear to him. And he knew she wasn't afraid for herself. She was thinking of her three brothers and her sister and her mother. It was possible she was thinking about Jaime as well, though she wouldn't admit it. She had a great deal to lose.

Behind her, the tent flap rustled again and a familiar face entered. Catelyn Stark. The moment Arya registered her mother's presence she launched herself into her arms. "Mother. You're here."

"Of course I'm here," Catelyn laughed once, holding her daughter close. "Oh, Arya, it's good to see you. I can't believe it's been another year already."

"It has, hasn't it," Arya pulled back from her mother. "How are the children?"

"Well. And already on their way to High Garden to wait out this battle," Catelyn said. "But I had to come here first. Most of my children are insisting on fighting on the front lines so...well I needed to see all of you first."

"I'm glad you're here," Arya smiled. "There's...so much to talk about."

"I imagine," Catelyn seemed to suddenly remember Tywin was present in the tent and turned, dipping into a brief curtsy. "Lord Tywin. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Somehow I doubt that, Lady Catelyn," Tywin said.

"A harmless courtesy, my lord," Catelyn said. "But if you wish for me to be honest, I will oblige you."

"Your courtesies do well enough," Tywin said. "Though I'm sure if you had something particularly honest to say you would not ask my permission."

"I would not," Catelyn agreed.

"Then it's a pleasure to see you as well, my lady." Tywin glanced at Arya. "Go on. I'll find you later."

Arya nodded gratefully, and with that she and her mother exited the tent, leaving Tywin alone. He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. At least Arya's mother and sister would be going south soon. And her older brothers would be in the north. That would leave only one brother for her to recklessly protect. She had a talent for brushing with death, especially when her family was involved. If he could, he would send her as far south as possible, but she would never allow that. Even if he put her in shackles she would find her way back to the fight. So he would just have to hope that she could win one more battle.

 _One last war for her to survive._

If she could only survive this one, his legacy would be secure...and he could step away.

 _One last war._

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! It wouldn't be Arya without her feeling defensive of the small folk, after all. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time.**_


	92. Chapter 92: Ghosts of Harrenhal

_**A/N: New characters showing up in this chapter and I think some of you are going to be very happy about one of them. Also, more Tywin and Arya, so its hopefully a good chapter over all. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 92: Ghosts of Harrenhal**

The next few days saw all of Arya's family returning to the same place for what would, perhaps, be the last time. Robb rode in with the last group of soldiers and refugees from the north the following morning. And Sansa arrived the next day at noon along with several carts of supplies from the Reach. She brought news of the children as well. They were settled at Highgarden with many others, ready to wait out the storm. Brienne and several of the household guard were there to protect them.

"Why High Garden?" Arya had asked. "Why not King's Landing? It's more defensible and that's where Queen Margaery will be."

"Margaery told me that if she could, she would be at the Reach as well," Sansa said. "King's Landing is more defensible yes, but if Harrenhal falls, it will be the next target of the dead. At least if we're at High Garden we will have a chance to retreat to Dorne...and outrun them for a little while longer."

Arya grasped her hand tightly. "Don't worry. Harrenhal won't fall. You, mother and the children will be safe."

"I believe you," Sansa smiled, squeezing her hand. "You'll protect us all, I'm sure."

The day after that, Jon arrived in the early morning, accompanied by a group of young children and elderly. Arya noted their clothes and could not help but wonder if they were wildlings. But then, of course Jon would work to save them. He was perhaps one of the few on this side of the wall who cared about their fates. Arya was glad he had come this far south. She wanted to see him again before the war began.

Bran was the last of her family to arrive, coming by carriage just before noon. The snow had begun to fall in earnest the night before and it slowed his progress. Arya and Jon rode out to meet him to see if they could help. It appeared the carriage wheel was stuck in a particularly large drift.

"Snow is one of the few things that defeat the mighty wheel, isn't it?" she joked to Bran as they tried to push the carriage past the drift.

"Yes," Bran agreed. "And unfortunately, my chair has wheels as well...so there's no way around it."

Arya couldn't help but grin at that. Despite his monotone, she could tell he was making a joke. The fact that Bran still had his old sense of humor was a comfort to her.

"Well, at least the God's Eye isn't frozen yet," Jon said. "I would start to worry if it was."

"It nearly never freezes," Bran said. "Not in a normal winter."

"Because it's so large I expect," Arya said. "And further south than most of the Riverlands."

"Not only that," Bran said. "The Isle of Faces is at its center...and a frozen lake would be too easy to cross."

Arya looked out over the great stretch of water. The Isle of Faces was not visible from here as the lake was shrouded by mists. In fact in all of her time at Harrenhal, she had never seen the Isle of Faces. She had heard stories of course, about the Greenmen and the great woods where a face was carved into every tree. But no one had reached the shores of the isle for well over a century. Maybe longer. The winds always turned them back. People always said Harrenhal was haunted...but Arya wondered if it wasn't the God's eye and the secret at its center that held the real ghosts.

"You always wanted to go when you were a child, didn't you Bran?" Jon recalled. "The stories about the Children and the Long Night were some of your favorites from Old Nan."

"They were," Bran said. "After I fell, I remember dreaming that if I reached the Isle of Faces they might give me the power to walk again."

Arya's heart clenched. "Well...who knows? Maybe they will. We just have to find a way there."

"We may find a way there," Bran said. "But even if we do, I won't walk again. I've accepted that." He peered out the window. "We have more helpers coming."

Arya turned to see two unfamiliar faces approaching the carriage. One was a rather short man, just on the cusp of old age, with dark circles beneath his eyes and wispy brown hair atop his head. Beside him was a girl a few years older than Arya with dark curls and a spear in hand.

"Arya, Jon, this is Meera Reed. She helped me on my journey north," Bran said. "And the man is her father."

"Howland Reed," Jon stepped around the carriage. "Our father told stories about you."

"Did he? That's flattering. I admired your father greatly," Howland said. He had a very kindly smile, but mysterious sort of eyes-like a man who knew many secrets that he never made known to anyone. He looked Jon over. "You're Jon Snow, aren't you?"

"Yes," Jon said. "I'm glad to meet you."

"Oh, this isn't the first time we've met," Howland said. "I was there the day your father first held you in his arms."

Arya saw the lump of Jon's throat bob up and down as he swallowed. "You were? Then did...do you know who my mother is?"

His voice cracked slightly and Arya's heart ached for him. Jon had always wondered about his mother, but their father refused to speak of it, perhaps because he wanted to pretend the encounter never happened. It was the one time he had betrayed her mother and his vows, and it was a clear source of shame for him.

"Yes," Howland said. He glanced at Bran who was watching him with a steady gaze. "But...there will be time to speak of that later in private."

Jon nodded slowly, remembering himself. "Right. Of course."

Meera approached Bran's carriage, regarding him a bit uncertainly. "I'm...glad to see you well."

"And I you," Bran said. "I'm sorry we parted as we did. I was...having trouble adjusting. It was difficult to see outside my own mind."

Meera shook her head. "Don't apologize. I know. There's still some of you left in there."

A shadow of a smile crossed Bran's face. "Thank you for bringing your father. I know he hasn't left Grey Water Watch in many years."

"I was waiting for the right time," Howland said. "And this was it."

"You have a talent for finding the right time," Bran said. "Without you, our father would never have returned from the war. Arya and I would never have been born and Jon never would have been brought home. We owe our lives to you."

"And you will repay the favor in this war I'm sure," Howland approached the carriage. "Bran...you know the vow my children swore to you. I sent them knowing that they would help you north, and they did. Now that my son is lost..." he trailed off, fighting for more words. "Now that Jojen is dead, I offer you the same vow in his place." He knelt before Bran's carriage, sinking slightly into the snow as he did. "To Winterfell I pledge the faith of Greywater. Hearth and harvest and I yield up to you, my lord. My sword and spear and arrows are yours to command. I swear it by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron. I swear it by ice and fire."

Arya had never heard such a vow before. The first part, at least, was familiar, but the final lines. Earth and water. Bronze and iron. Ice and fire. Those words were entirely unfamiliar to her.

Bran bowed his head. "Thank you, Lord Reed. Now...if you would not mind helping my carriage from this snow drift..."

Howland smiled and stood, beckoning Meera to come and help him at the back. With a few more pushes, they dislodged the carriage and it was able to continue on its way toward Harrenhal. Howland walked beside Bran's window, talking to him in a low voice. Arya lingered slightly behind with Jon.

"Have you ever heard a vow like that before?" she asked.

"Never. Perhaps it's specific to the crannogmen." Jon rubbed his hands together, still looking quite shaken. "I...can't believe he might actually know my mother. If she's still alive, maybe she can be found. And if not well...well at least I might know her name."

Arya smiled sadly. "I'm happy for you. But...don't hope for too much Jon. You may not like the truth when you hear it."

"I know that," Jon said. "Of course I do. Just...knowing will be enough for me, even if it's a terrible truth."

Arya nodded. All the same, she hoped it wasn't a terrible truth. She hoped that Jon's mother had loved him very much, and gave him away so that he could have the best possible life. She did not like to think of her father with any woman but her mother. It was perhaps the one dishonorable thing her father had ever done. But then again, she would not have Jon if he had not strayed.

* * *

Within Harrenhal, no one ever stopped moving. If they were not preparing defenses on the walls or fixing siege weapons to the tops of towers or directing supplies to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, they were speaking of strategy or drilling in the Flowstone yard. Nearly every wall was spiked with dragon glass now, and the first trench around Harrenhal was completed, with the second one still making progress. The bear pit, gruesome as it was, had been converted into the largest pyre Arya had ever seen. They needed some way to burn the dead, after all, to make sure they did not come back to murder them.

The smith was working round the clock as well, and the ring of hammers on dragon glass faded into the background after a while. Arya found herself wandering by the smith to see what sorts of weapons they were bending into shape. They had swords, of course, not quite as broad or long as a traditional knight's blade, but enough to do the job. In addition to that there were daggers, arrow heads, spear heads, axes-even sickles for the Dothraki. And more weapons from other smiths in the area came in every day. Arya had never seen such a mountain of weapons, and yet she still wondered if it would be enough.

Several soldiers lingered around the forge since the steam provided much needed warmth. But perhaps the steam was why Arya did not notice a familiar face walking toward her, hammer in hand.

"Arya?"

She turned, looking up at the smith just behind her. It took her a long moment to recognize him but when she did, her eyes widened. "Gendry?"

It was him all right. He was taller than the last time she saw him. His shoulders were broader and his hair cleaner cut. But beneath it all, he was the same Gendry to had stayed at her side on the road from King's Landing to Harrenhal. Seeing him again was like seeing a ghost from another lifetime.

"Aye," Gendry said, crossing quickly to her. "Seven hells for a minute there I thought I stepped back in time." He looked her over. "But you've grown up since I last saw you."

"I hope so. It was over six years ago."

"Long time." Gendry wiped his hands off on a cloth. "What...happened, Arya? One minute you were at Harrenhal and the next you were gone. I thought the worst. I thought one of the soldiers had carried you off into the woods."

"No," Arya said. "Tywin Lannister found out who I was and he took me with him as a hostage."

"Oh." Gendry blinked. "Gods, that's close to the worst, isn't it?"

"Close," Arya agreed. "I'm all right though."

"Not completely." Gendry took her right hand, holding it up to the light. "Did the Lannisters take these from you?"

"Are you going to fight them if they did?" Arya asked.

"Maybe," Gendry said.

"Well don't." Arya pulled her hand back. "It was the Boltons and they're all dead now."

"Good," Gendry said. "And you? Did you escape Tywin Lannister and make your way back north? I heard that Robb Stark made peace with the Crown."

"I made my way back north a few years ago," Arya said. "But I never really escaped Tywin Lannister. He's my father in law now."

Gendry blinked rapidly. "He...oh. Really?" The information took a long moment to sink in. "So...that makes you a Lannister."

"In name, yes. Now you see why I didn't want anyone to know I was a lady," Arya said. "It's impossible for ladies to escape arranged marriages, especially when peace is uncertain."

"I'm sorry, m'lady. I mean...Arya," Gendry corrected himself. "I wish I could have kept you well away from them."

"You would have died if you stood in Lord Tywin's way. And I'm glad you're not dead," Arya tilted her head to the side. "Where have you been these past several years? Not at Harrenhal the whole time."

"No," Gendry said. "No, there was a sort of...prison break and Hotpie and I got out in the chaos. He's fine too, last I checked. He was hired on as a cook at the crossroad inn. Makes great pies." He shrugged. "And me, well, I eventually made my way back to King's Landing. Thought the best place to hide would be right under their noses. And I was right. No one came after me. Whatever the reason they wanted me in the first place, I guess they forgot."

"And now you're back here, just like me," Arya said.

"They needed as many smiths as possible," Gendry said. "And my master was one of the best metal workers in the kingdoms. He could reforge valyrian steel. I'm as good as he was, I'd say. They need me here."

Arya nodded at the ax in his hand. "It does look like good work." She bit the inside of her cheek. "Will you...leave? Before the battle comes to Harrenhal?"

"No," Gendry said. "I reckon they'll need weapons right up until the end. Don't worry about me though, Arya. I'm a fighter."

"It's the fighters I worry the most about," Arya said.

"I might surprise you," Gendry said. "I-" He paused, straightening his back slightly as he caught sight of someone behind Arya. She turned to see Jaime coming up behind her, adorned in his Lannister armor. He must have just returned from evacuating people in the west.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jaime said. "My father was looking for you Lady Arya. He had some questions about the Brotherhood."

"Of course," Arya looked from Jaime to Gendry. "Ah...Gendry this is Jaime Lannister. My...husband."

Gendry nodded his head. "M'lord."

"Jaime this is Gendry Waters," Arya said. "He's an old friend who was with me at Harrenhal six years ago."

"And now you've returned to the smiths here. Good man," Jaime's tone was friendly enough, but there was a sort of sharpness in his eyes as he looked him over. "I apologize for interrupting this reunion."

"No, m'lord," Gendry said, straightening slightly. "I should get back to work anyhow."

"I'll see you again," Arya promised, stepping back toward Jaime. She watched as Gendry disappeared into the forge.

"You do have a talent for making friends, don't you?" Jaime asked.

"We were with each other for several months. We couldn't help but be friends," Arya said. "Besides, he's a good person. He knew who I really was and didn't tell anyone, even though it could have earned him a lot of money."

"Yes, yes, he sounds like a good lad," Jaime said, already walking in the other direction. "Perhaps when the war is over, you'll have more time to reconnect."

Arya's brow furrowed as she followed after him. He had an odd manner about him that she had never seen before. "Did...something happen in the west?"

"No. Why do you ask?" Jaime asked.

"You're acting odd," Arya said.

"In what way?"

"I'm not sure. It's just...in an odd way."

"Times are stressful, my lady. You'll have to forgive me."

"Maybe I will if you stop walking so quickly. Is there a rush?"

Jaime paused and looked down at her. "No. No rush. I just...assumed you would not want to spend any more time with me than necessary." He took a step away from her. "My...father is near the western gate. You can find the rest of the way I'm sure."

Arya nodded once and watched him go. It was true, being around Jaime was still difficult. The distance between them was as wide as ever, even though they were in the same place. But at the same time...

She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. She didn't have time to think about her and Jaime right now. There was so much more the deal with before she could think about that.

* * *

Night fell early on the Riverlands, casting the castle in a deep darkness barely warded away by torches. But even in the blackness, the forge kept ringing. It was difficult to find any sort of quiet unless one stayed awake until the blackest hours of the night. Fortunately, since Arya was not sleeping much these days, she was able to find some peace as she wandered the castle. Most of the soldiers did not wander off on their own at this time. They feared the ghosts. But as a Stark, Arya did not fear the Hour of the Wolf or any ghosts it brought with it.

It was a strange thing to be back at Harrenhal. So much had changed and so much had not. The old castle was still just as oppressive as ever with its great black walls and crumbling towers which disappeared into the clouds. Some legends said that Harren the Black had mixed human blood with the mortar of the stones and sometimes, Arya was inclined to believe them.

But now it wasn't just Lannister soldiers within the castle, and no one was being tortured or hung from the battlements. There was no time for that. They were not here to wait out a human opponent. They were here to make a final stand, and it gave the old castle a new atmosphere.

More than anything _she_ had changed.

She was a bony child when the Lannister men first brought her here. Her hair was cut short and choppy, her clothes were rags. No one would have guessed that she was the daughter of Ned Stark.

The course of her life altered dramatically when Tywin Lannister had discovered her true name. She wondered sometimes, what would have happened if he hadn't. Would she have succeeded in killing him? Would she have escaped this place and continued north to her family? It was hard to say for sure. It was such a long time ago.

Yet, as she wandered into the room where Tywin had once conducted meetings with his generals, she could almost go back to that day.

" _What's your name, girl. You never said."_

" _Jeyne...Poole._

" _You seem uncertain of that."_

" _I'm not. It's Jeyne Poole."_

" _You're lying. Let's try, once again. Tell me your name."_

Slowly, Arya slid her torch into the nearest holder and glided over to the table, letting her hand slide over the surface. Her palm came away covered in dust. She wondered if she brushed it all away if she would find her finger prints beneath-ten instead of eight. The thought brought a sad smile to her face.

Harrenhal was full of ghosts after all, it seemed. Not of the dead...but of Arya's life as it once was.

As her fingers circled the nob of one of the chairs, the door behind her opened and she jumped, spinning around. Tywin was standing the doorway, a torch in hand. For a moment, he looked just as surprised to see her. "It's late to be wandering around, Lady Arya."

"I could say the same about you," Arya said. "What are you doing here?"

"In a few days, all of the commanders will be meeting one last time. This room worked well enough as a meeting space when I was last here. It should serve well again," Tywin replied, pacing around the table and finding a place for his torch. "It may be a bit more cramped."

"Will you need me to play cup bearer, my lord?" Arya asked.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "No, I don't believe so."

Arya turned away from the table, peering instead out of the crumbling window. There were a few torches lit, but mostly the night was black and cold. There was only a thin sliver of moonlight above, reflecting in the waters of the God's Eye. "It's strange being back here after so long."

"Is it?" Tywin asked. "I suppose six years is a very long time when you're young."

"One third of my life," she reminded him.

"And a much smaller part of mine," he said.

"It must be strange anyway. A lot has changed since then." She laughed once, turning back to face him. "So many wars and weddings."

"Only a few more than usual. But you're right. Quite a bit has changed," Tywin said. "The last time we were in this room, I believe you were plotting to kill me."

"I was." Arya laughed once. "Gods, I used to hate you so much."

Tywin raised his eyebrows. "And now you only hate me a bit."

"Yes. A small bit," Arya agreed.

She turned to look out the window again. In the fields around the keep, the lights danced in the darkness, each of them marking a soul who had come to fight for Westeros. Eventually, they would all retreat within the walls of Harrenhal, but for now they waited in the cold. They were all waiting for the world to end.

"Do you think we have any chance?" Arya asked at last. "Everyone seems very confident in the war council. There's no other choice. We have to believe that we can win but...can we?"

Tywin didn't respond for a long time and Arya hated the doubt in his silence. "I suppose that if it was completely hopeless, your brother would know it by now."

"Maybe he does," Arya said. "And he just doesn't want to tell us. Better to go down fighting I suppose."

"His strategies are a bit specific for someone certain of death," Tywin said. "If he knew we were all going to die, he might as well suggest a blind charge against the enemy in the open field. It would be much quicker."

Arya nodded once, but the dread did not leave her. She had dreamed about this a long time ago, she realized. After Ramsay, when nightmares kept her awake at all hours...she had dreamed of an endless cold coming to Westeros and the rivers running red with blood, all while she watched and could do nothing to stop it.

She wondered, if she looked out this window in a few moon's time, would she see her nightmare come to life? Would the God's eye glow red in the light of the moon?

Tywin's shadow fell over her and she startled out of her thoughts. She had not heard him approach. "Do you remember our lessons?"

"Of course I do," Arya said.

"Good. And where in those lessons does it say that giving up before the battle even begins is a good strategy?"

"I'm not _giving up_ ," Arya glared out into the night, pulling at her fingers. "I'm just contemplating death. There's a difference."

"Seems you've had enough brushes with death that you should be old friends by now."

"Or maybe death is angry that I keep avoiding him," Arya said. "And now he means to collect."

Tywin exhaled. "Arya, look at me."

She didn't, half out of spite and half out of fear of the gaze that so often saw straight through to her soul. But when she refused, she felt a hand clasp one side of her face and lift her chin, forcing her to look up.

"I won't lie and say that victory is assured," he said. "It might not even be likely. But it is possible. Bran Stark has a strange power I can't begin to understand. Frankly, I don't want to understand it. But I _do_ know what a man looks like when they're defeated and delaying the inevitable. And that's not your brother." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You on the other hand..."

"It's a moment of doubt," Arya said. "It will pass."

"Good. See that it does," Tywin said. "Because when this is all over, you are going to live. Do you understand?"

Arya swallowed hard. "Is that an order, my lord?"

"Yes it is," Tywin said. "Don't disappoint me."

Arya nodded once. It amazed her sometimes...how much she did not want to disappoint him. Even back in the days when she hated him so much more, it had given her some small joy to meet his expectations.

Tywin let his hand linger for a moment longer before he released her face. He exhaled, glancing out the window. "There will be time to rest after this. This will be the last war for some time. And it _will_ be my last war."

"You said that about the War of Five Kings too," Arya reminded him.

"I did, didn't I?" Tywin shook his head. "Seems I was quite wrong about that."

"It's not often that you admit that you're wrong," Arya pointed out, a grin spreading across her face.

Tywin gave her a cold look, but it only had half its usual bite. "Get some rest. If you spend every night awake until the dead come, you'll have no energy left to fight them."

"The same applies to you," Arya said.

"I won't be doing near as much fighting," Tywin said. "Go on."

Arya gave him a small nod and backed toward the door. There was something so strange about him and Arya could not place it. Something about his presence. Usually Tywin Lannister's presence filled whatever space it occupied, from his offices to the Dragon Pit. Six years ago, she had always known as soon as he entered these rooms. Something about his footsteps. It was dreadfully intimidating to share the same space with him.

Tonight, his energy was subdued. Tired. Like one of the torches flickering in the vast darkness. And that worried Arya more than anything else.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Gendry is at Harrenhal, as many of you hoped and guessed. I really wasn't originally planning to bring him into the story until a month ago when I realized that yeah, its likely he would be a the smith since he's a gifted blacksmith. So there you go. And of course I got to bring in Howland Reed who I've always been facinated by. Next chapter there will be some long awaited scenes, so look forward to that. In any case, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	93. Chapter 93: The Truth

_**A/N: Well, just based on this chapter title, you all probably know this is going to be a Stark focused chapter. But its got some other fun interactions as well. These chapters have been kind of difficult because I'm having to figure out where to place all the important conversations and in what order lol. I am a character driven writer at heart! Enjoy :)**_

 **Chapter 93: The Truth**

The next morning, the remainder of the Brotherhood arrived at Riverrun. Arya met with Berric and a few of the others in the Flowstone yard to discuss their place in the war and how they could best serve the defenses.

"Most of the walls are already spoken for," Arya said. "But it may be a long fight and any one of them could need back up. I don't think we can have too many guards in the weirwood. That's where my brother will be waiting."

"Your brother, Bran," Berric said. "The crippled one."

"Yes," Arya said. "He believes the Night King might be coming for him specifically. It could be one of the most dangerous places to be."

"You needn't worry about us, m'lady," one of the other men said. He had his hair pulled back in a top not and he stunk of alcohol, even this early in the morning. "We're not afraid of a dangerous fight."

"Maybe its because you've drunk all of your fear away," Arya said. "But if you're going to protect my brother, I'd prefer you sober."

"Thoros almost never is," Berric said. "But he's a good fighter."

"Thoros of Myr?" Arya raised an eyebrow. "They tell stories of you and your flaming sword."

"He doesn't live up to them," grumbled the Hound from his place against the wall. "Mostly he gives sermons."

"Strange you're still with us if you hate them so much," Thoros retorted.

The Hound shrugged. "Got nowhere better to be."

"The world might end here," Arya said. "Seems there are lots of better places to be."

"Wouldn't want to miss the show, would I, girl?" the Hound asked.

Arya's eyes narrowed but she turned back to Berric. "There's another job your men could do as well. Moving bodies to the bear pit."

"The bear pit?" Berric asked.

"The Night King can raise the recently dead. Best to burn the bodies as soon as they fall or they get past our defenses," Arya said. "There will be a pyre there. The biggest you've ever seen. Strong men can carry the bodies there." She glanced at the Hound. "Might be a useful place for you. You're the biggest man for miles."

"A useful place for me is as far away from fire as possible," the Hound said. "I'd rather guard your brother."

"I don't know if I trust you with my brother," Arya said. "And if you hate fire, why are you so close to a Brotherhood that serves the Lord of Light."

Thoros cackled. "See, Clegane? She asks the good questions."

"You need not fear the fire, Sandor Clegane," a voice said from behind them. "It brings life as much as it brings death."

Arya turned to see a woman atop a black horse. She was dressed all in red, though not nearly warm enough for the growing cold. Most everything about her was red from her clothing to her hair. Everything but her pale skin and her blue eyes.

The Brotherhood bowed their heads respectfully as she dismounted but Arya studied her warily. "Did you just...walk through the front gate?"

"I did," the woman said. "No one stopped me...because I am meant to be here."

"This is the Lady Melisandre," Berric said. "She is a friend to the living. A red priestess of our lord."

Melisandre approached, scrutinizing Arya with her blue eyes. Before Arya could step away, she reached out a pale hand and grasped her chin between her fingers. It took everything in Arya not to draw her knife. "You have the same eyes as your brother."

Arya blinked. "I...what?"

"The same eyes as Jon Snow," Melisandre said. "Different colors, yes...but the same."

Arya's eyes widened. "You're the one who brought him back, aren't you?"

"The lord brought him back," Melisandre released her chin. "I was merely the vessel. But yes, I was there when he rose from the dead. He came back with a new purpose: to see that the living survive." She looked around the courtyard. "And he is serving that purpose well. By bringing proof to King's Landing, he joined so many warring houses together."

"You...have my thanks for saving him," Arya said. "Jon is very dear to me."

Melisandre smiled. It was the kind of smile that hid infinite secrets. "And you have my thanks."

"For what?" Arya asked.

"For whatever part you have to play in this Great War," Melisandre said. Then she glided past Arya toward the others of the Brotherhood. Berric stepped to her side and they continued to talk in low voices. She couldn't explain why, but the woman made her skin prickle.

"She scares me too," the Hound commented, stepping up beside Arya.

"I'm not scared," Arya muttered.

"You're a liar. Of course you're scared," the Hound said. "Means you're smart. Anyone who can raise a man from the dead should be feared."

"That's why we fear the Night King," Arya said. "What is your game, Hound? Why come to this place to fight when you know you could die."

"It's the only thing to do now," the Hound said. "My purpose used to be killing my brother, but I heard he's dead."

"He is," Arya said. "I was there the night he died."

The Hound smirked. "Did you kill him?"

"No," Arya said. "Someone else."

"Shame. It would be funny if someone as small as you killed him." The Hound glanced around the yard but paused when he seemed to notice something. Arya followed his gaze and caught sight of her sister passing around the yard, her hands folded into her sleeves. "Your sister on the other hand...she's gotten much taller."

"I've noticed," Arya said. "What do you care about my sister?"

"I don't," the Hound said. "Knew her from King's Landing. That's all."

"Did Joffrey have you beat her?" Arya muttered.

"Will you kill me if he did?"

"I might."

"Well, I guess it's good that I never beat her then," the Hound said. "I didn't harm your sister. Offered to take her with me when I left actually. She refused." He shrugged. "Glad to see she got free of her cage eventually."

Then, before Arya could question him further, he turned and left to join the others in the Brotherhood.

They were all enigmas to her. Thoros of Myr, the drunken priest with a flaming sword. Berric Dondarion, a man who had survived death many times. The Hound, once a dog for Joffrey, now a directionless member of a band of outlaws. And Melisandre, the Red Woman, who had saved her brother's life with some strange magic she did not comprehend.

In any other war, Arya would not have wanted most of them near her. But in a war against the Night King...well they might make the difference between life and death.

High above a dragon screeched and Arya looked to the sky in time to see the green beast passing overhead. Some of the people in the courtyard flinched and ducked at the sight, but the dragon clearly had no designs on them. It was holding a goat in its talons.

Without thinking, Arya followed the dragon's path, running up the stairs to the nearest wall. She watched as the beast landed on the shores of the God's Eye next to his brother, the large black dragon. It had taken a cow for its meal. Arya hoped that they had not stolen their prey from some poor farmer with little else to his name.

The creatures blasted their prey with fire before tearing at it and gulping it down. Arya could fit inside the jaws of the larger one if it spread them wide enough. With time, she imagined it would be as large as Balerion the Black Dread. She remembered once hiding inside of its skull in the catacombs below King's Landing and she could stand fully without her head brushing the roof of its mouth. Even without the fire...they would be fearsome in battle.

She found herself glad, once again, that Tywin had managed to make peace. She did not mind having the dragons as allies. They truly were incredible to behold, and she imagined what it would be like to ride on the back of one through the clouds. It must feel like pure freedom.

"Do you find them beautiful or terrible?"

Arya turned to see the Daenerys Targaryen coming up the steps. It was the first time she had ever approached Arya and not the other way around, and it was almost a surprise to be approached by the soon to be queen.

"Which answer would offend you less?" Arya asked.

Daenerys smiled. "Neither answer will offend me, Lady Arya."

"Then both," Arya said. "Perhaps that's why I always liked reading about them. Aegon's conquest, the Dance of the Dragons. I'm sure it was terrible to live through...but it made a good story."

"Yes," Daenerys said. "I grew up hearing the stories from my brother." She stopped beside Arya, resting her hands upon the wall. "Did you have a favorite?"

"The stories of Visenya," Arya said. "I always wanted to be like her. She was a woman but no one could tell her what to do. Even without her dragon they feared her sword."

"I'm sure people fear your sword," Daenerys said. "If the stories are to be believed."

"Stories?" Arya asked.

"I've heard a few. From Tyrion, from Oberyn. You've made an impression on both of them," Daenerys said. "I don't use a sword, I'm afraid. I've never had cause to learn. Maybe you could teach me something."

"Maybe," Arya said. "Though you have Ser Barristan Selmy at your side. He could teach you far more than I ever could."

"I'm sure he could. But we're both rather small women. I imagine that changes how one fights," Daenerys said. "Does your sword have a name? Like Visenya's?"

"Winter's Fury," Arya said.

"That suits the sword of a Stark," Daenerys said.

"It was reforged from one half of my father's great sword," Arya rested her hand on the hilt. "It seemed a fitting name."

"I'm sure your father would be proud," Daenerys said. "I asked Tyrion how he died. Execution for treason, wasn't it?"

"Treason which he did not commit," Arya said. "Joffrey wanted him dead so he made up an excuse. My father never would have betrayed Robert Baratheon. He was his friend."

"I believe you. I'm not trying to accuse." Daenerys sighed, looking out over the fields. "In truth, I sympathize with you, Lady Arya. We've both been used to get others what they want. My brother sold me to a Khal in marriage so that he could gain his armies. You were taken as a ward to the Lannisters to keep your brother in line...and forced to marry one." She looked at Arya. "But we both rose above our circumstances. Found the power we needed and proved everyone wrong."

Arya's mouth twitched. She could see what Daenerys was trying to do. She was trying to dig to see how much she resented the Lannisters. This was a familiar dance. "I can't speak to your journey, your grace. Perhaps there are some similarities." She turned to face her. "But I'm curious as to why you are doing this."

"Doing what?" Daenerys asked.

"You're not the first person to search for cracks in my relationships with the Lannisters," Arya said. "Prince Oberyn did the same. He hoped to have me as an ally against them. But I don't see the need for this. You made peace with Lord Tywin, did you not?"

"Yes, I have," Daenerys said. "You misunderstand me, Lady Arya. I would not try to turn you against your house. If you must know, I'm here because of Tyrion."

"Tyrion?" Arya asked.

"He calls you an interesting person," Daenerys said. "And a valuable ally. I was curious to see if he was right."

Arya tilted her head to the side. "And is he?"

"Yes. I think so," Daenerys said. "You seem a good person to have as a friend...though I imagine your friendship is not easily won."

"Depends on the circumstances," Arya said. "You're going to begin the battle at the Twins, yes?"

"I am," Daenerys said.

"Well, if you want to earn my friendship, you'll protect my older brothers there," Arya said. "It's actually quite easy to earn my trust, your grace. Those who protect my family are my friends. Those who threaten it are my enemies. Protect my family...and I'm sure we'll get along well."

Daenerys regarded her for a long moment before she nodded. "Of course. I understand." She exhaled. "I believe they will be expecting us at our final meeting soon. Shall we?"

"Yes. I know the way there," Arya said, giving her a cordial smile.

In many ways, Arya still did not know what to make of the dragon queen. She was a strong woman with a strong will, and charming when she wanted to be. It only made sense to make nice with Arya. After the war was over, she imagined that she and Jaime would take more full control over Casterly Rock. If Daenerys wanted the west, and any other part of the country, she would have to make friends.

And by Arya's assessment the Targaryen queen would make a much better friend than enemy.

* * *

Nearly all of the major commanders had come to Harrenhal for this final meeting, with the exception of Yara Greyjoy who was still in the process of evacuating the country with her fleet, and the Dothraki commander, whose cavalry was already stationed along the Neck to intercept the incoming army.

Bran gave everyone the latest news on the Army of the Dead. Their army had grown since the wall as they picked up stragglers left behind, but they had passed by most keeps without bothering to attack. Marching all day and night without a rest, they had nearly reached the Neck, and the Dothraki had already made their first assault on their left flank. The attack had carved off five hundred dead men before they were forced to retreat. Losses had been minimal. It was a promising result, and the hope was that they would have many more attacks on the army before they reached the Twins.

It was still unclear to Bran if the Night King would attack the Twins or move on to Harrenhal, so Tywin could only advise everyone to be prepared. Final strategies were solidified, details decided upon...and now all that was left was to fight.

Daenerys left Harrenhal with her dragons a few hours later, along with half of the Unsullied. Arya watched them go from the wall. Half of the Dornish would follow soon after, and in the morning Robb, Jon and any remaining northern and Riverlands forces would be the last to make the trip to the Twins. That meant one more night before Arya's older brothers would leave her. One more night for the Starks to be together in one place.

It had been an awfully long time since they had been together. Not since the end of the northern civil war, and even then there time was too short. It struck Arya that this might be the last time they were all together and she feared that more than anything in the world.

She was not the only one who feared it. The only reason her mother and Sansa hadn't left yet was because they wanted to spend as much time with the rest of the family as possible when they might never see them again. And Jon seemed to stick close to Arya that evening, mussing her hair at every opportunity. Robb was quiet and contemplative and seemed constantly on the verge of wanting to say something but unable to find the words. All of them were dancing around the truth of this final night-that it was the calm before the storm.

"When will you and mother leave?" Arya asked Sansa that evening. They had found a quiet fire in the great keep, away from most of the other soldiers and lords, where they could eat supper in peace.

"In a few days," Sansa said. "Robb may be leaving, but mother will want to spend a bit more time with you and Bran before she goes. And so do I." She twisted a ring about one of her pale fingers. "And...if something does happen to Robb...Bran will be able to tell us."

"He'll be able to tell you after the danger passes as well," Arya said. "Better for you both to go south as soon as possible. Don't wait around to hear bad news."

"Sometimes the uncertainty is worse," Sansa admitted. "Mother is still not used to it. She's had to wait all of her life and hope. She waited while father fought in the Rebellion. She waited for Robb to come home after every battle in the War of the Five Kings. She waited for both of us while we were trapped at King's Landing and hoped that we wouldn't be harmed. She waited for Bran to wake up. I've done my fair share of waiting as well, but not near as much as she has."

"I can't imagine it," Arya said. "That's one of the reasons I've practiced with my blade so often these past years. When I was a child, it was because I wanted to be like father. But the day he died..." She looked down at her hands. "I was standing in the crowd with nothing but needle. I wanted to fight my way to him. I wanted to _save_ him. And I couldn't. I was powerless."

"We were both powerless," Sansa said.

"It was the worst feeling in the world," Arya said. "And that's what drove me to fight and to practice. I never wanted to be helpless again. I never wanted to be that little girl standing alone in the crowd, unable to do anything to save my family." She swallowed hard. "Mother is strong for being able to wait like she does. I couldn't do it. It would drive me mad."

"Even if you were as skilled then as you are today, you may not have been able to save him, Arya," Sansa murmured. "You know that, right?"

"Maybe not," Arya said. "But I might have a better chance."

The door creaked open behind them and they turned to see their mother and Robb entering the room. Robb had a pitcher in hand, as well as a few mugs.

"Bran told us we'd find you here," Robb said. "There are a great deal of soldiers drinking in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths...but I really can't stand to be around any of them."

"If you're looking for quiet this is the place," Arya smiled. "Is that wine?"

"Yes," Robb said. "Something for the nerves."

"I have a lot of those," Arya stood and crossed to him, taking two of the mugs from his hand. He gave her a small smile and filled both of them. She took a grateful drink then returned to Sansa, extending the mug. "Here."

"I'm...not sure I should," Sansa said. "The Maester at the Reach said it's better to abstain from too much wine."

"Why?" Arya asked.

Sansa gave a little smile and glanced at their mother. Catelyn let out a breath and crossed to her, drawing her into her arms. "Oh, Sansa."

"What is it? What's happening?" Arya asked.

"I'm with child," Sansa said. "Two moons."

Arya blinked. "You...really? Pregnant?"

"That's wonderful," Robb said. "Congratulations, Sansa." He took the second mug from Arya's hand and drank it himself. "I hope we all live to see him born."

"How do you know it will be a boy?" Sansa asked.

"Intuition," Robb said.

"Would you like to wager on your intuition?" Arya asked. "I'll bet it's a girl."

"How much will you bet?" Robb asked.

"A gold dragon?"

"Surprisingly cheap for a Lannister."

Arya kicked out at his leg and he narrowly dodged her. "If you would like me to bet you out of all your money I will."

Robb grinned. It had been some time since she had seen him with such a smile on his face. "No, no. I won't risk it. I want my children to eat. A gold dragon it is."

Catelyn sighed. "You've both grown so much, and yet sometimes you're children again."

Arya smiled, sitting back down by the fire. Robb pulled up a chair for their mother and himself and joined them. Arya was glad he had come. He had been acting rather distant all day, and she had wondered if he intended to leave without a difficult goodbye. But he was here with them for this last night.

The door opened behind them again and Arya glanced over her shoulder to see Jon rolling Bran's chair into the room. Robb immediately shifted his chair to the side to leave Bran space beside the fire. "I was just thinking we should send for you."

"I know," Bran said, the slightest smile on his face. "And here I am."

"Here you are," Catelyn stood and went to the pitcher. "Wine?"

"No. Thank you mother," Bran said. "But wine for Jon, perhaps."

Jon swallowed hard, glancing nervously at Catelyn. "Oh I...don't need to stay. I just thought I'd bring Bran here."

"That's ridiculous, Jon. You're leaving tomorrow," Arya said. "Stay, please."

Jon looked like he might protest but Catelyn spoke first. "Yes, stay."

Arya stared at her mother in surprise. She wondered if she had ever heard her bid Jon to stay in a room with the family. Most days she didn't speak to him at all.

"Your brothers and sisters want you here," Catelyn said. "So you should stay."

Jon nodded slowly. "Thank you...my lady. I will." With some hesitation he crossed to the pitcher of wine and tentatively accepted a goblet from her. She held it out to him like a peace offering of sorts. Or perhaps a onetime only truce. Arya found herself smiling and she motioned for Jon to join her. He did, mussing her hair as he passed.

"So...did I miss anything interesting?" Jon asked.

"Sansa is pregnant," Bran said.

"Bran, I hadn't told you yet," Sansa said. When Bran raised his eyebrows she sighed. "Right, of course. I keep forgetting."

"Congratulations," Jon said. "I hope he's the first of many."

"It seems Jon thinks it will be a boy as well," Robb said, clapping a hand on Jon's shoulder.

"Just because a lot of people believe something doesn't make it true," Arya pointed out. "And I'm always right."

"Are you?"

"Yes. Always. I have never once been wrong."

"Didn't you think Rickon would be a girl," Sansa asked. "Before he was born, you insisted."

Arya shook her head. "I don't recall that."

"I do. Sansa's right. You said Rickon would be a girl," Robb said.

"You did," Jon agreed. "I remember."

"Well it's your word against mine," Arya said.

"Actually," Bran said. "They are r-"

Arya sprang from her chair and covered Bran's mouth with her hand. "Wrong. He said you're all wrong."

"Let Bran speak," Robb demanded, banging his fist on the back of his chair for emphasis.

"She's trying to silence him." Jon swooped in from behind, picking Arya up and carrying away. "We must know the truth."

Arya broke down laughing, squirming in Jon's grip. "Unhand me."

"Never. Not until you confess."

"Confess, confess," Sansa chanted.

Their mother laughed, sipping at her wine. "For god's sake, if anyone is trying to sleep nearby they must loathe you all."

"Who is going to sleep in this place?" Robb asked. "They say the bloody walls are haunted."

"Superstitious people do." Arya squirmed from Jon's grip and gave him a playful shove. "Trust me, it's not haunted. I was here for some time years ago and I never once saw a ghost."

"Even if there were ghosts, you wouldn't be afraid of them," Robb said. "You once punched a ghost right in the face."

"When did she do that?" Catelyn asked.

"It wasn't a real ghost. It was Jon under a white sheet trying to scare us," Arya said. "He jumped out and I punched him."

"You were supposed to run and scream," Robb said. "Only you would try to fight the dead."

"Well we all fight the dead in a few days, don't we?" Jon said. "The real dead."

The statement had a noticeable effect on the room. As if for a moment they had forgotten all about the soon coming war. Perhaps they had. Arya had felt almost as if they were back in Winterfell, care free as the days before all of the wars.

"Is there more wine?" their mother asked at last.

"Let's hope so," Robb said, pacing back to the pitcher. Behind them the door opened and they turned to see Howland Reed edging inside. He bowed his head in apology.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. Bran...asked me to find him here."

"I did. Thank you Lord Reed," Bran said.

"Howland, yes?" Catelyn stood and went to greet him. "I know your name well. You saved my husband's life many years ago."

"I did, my lady," Howland said. "I'm sorry I could not save him again."

"None of us begrudge you that," Catelyn said. She glanced at Bran. "Why did you ask him here?"

"Because he has an important story to tell. About the day he saved father," Bran said. "Everyone here should hear it. But especially you...and Jon."

Jon's expression immediately sobered and he looked nervously from Catelyn to Bran to Howland. Catelyn just appeared confused. She and Jon were rarely connected in anything at all.

Howland gave Catelyn a sad smile. "You...may want to sit, my lady."

"I can stand to hear whatever you have to tell us, Lord Reed," Catelyn said.

He nodded once, crossing to the center of the room. "Lord Stark swore me to secrecy about the day I saved him...because if the secret were to get out it would have been a spark that started an uncontainable blaze. Even now, I'm not sure I should speak these words. It feels a betrayal to the dead." He looked to Bran. "But Brandon Stark insists that this is the right time and I trust him."

Bran gave him a slow nod of encouragement.

"The day that I saved Lord Stark was the same day he lost his sister," Howland said. "We went to the Tower of Joy. Not exactly a fitting name for all of the blood that was shed in its shadow. We were met with two King's Guard that day. One of them was the Sword of the Morning, Arthur Dayne. With his skill, he killed most of our men, but Lord Eddard was still bold enough to face him in single combat."

Arya had heard that story before. It was a miracle that her father had beaten Arthur Dayne, one of the best swordsmen who had ever lived. Sometimes she used to imagine the fight when she still used a stick for a sword.

"It was an honorable fight. A fair fight," Howland said. "But...if I had let it continue that way, Lord Eddard would have been killed. I cannot say why exactly, but I knew that his death would be devastating for the realm in ways that I could not comprehend at the time. So...I stabbed Arthur Dayne in the back and put an end to him."

Arya's eyes widened and she exchanged a glance with Robb. Their father had never told them exactly how Howland had saved him. It made sense now. Their father would have been shamed by giving Arthur Dayne such an ending.

"But...that's not the important part of the story," Howland said. "Once the knights were dead, we were free to climb the tower. We found Lyanna in a bed of her own blood. She had been... pregnant you see, with the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. It was the toll of the labor that killed her."

The room was deathly silent. The fact that Lyanna Stark had born a Targaryen bastard...if the child had lived, they could have drastically changed the course of history, or else went the same way as Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen when Robert discovered them.

"And the child?" Catelyn asked. "Did they die?"

"No. He didn't," Howland said. "He was healthy and had the Stark look like his mother. And with her dying breaths, Lyanna charged Lord Eddard to protect the boy with his life. To never tell anyone his true identity." Howland looked to Jon. "So...knowing that his friend Robert would never let the child live if he knew the truth, he claimed the boy as his bastard son and brought him up at Winterfell."

For a long moment the words didn't seem to register. There was a long, empty silence in which every person in the room struggled to comprehend the words. Out of the corner of her eye, Arya saw her mother sway on her feet and she stood quickly to steady her. And Jon. Jon...was struggling to draw a breath. "What are you...what are you saying, Lord Reed?"

"That you are not the bastard of Eddard Stark and some nameless woman." Howland looked to Catelyn. "Your husband never strayed from you. He would never have forgotten his honor like that. But Jon was the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen-of ice and fire-and that was too dangerous a secret to spread."

"Father was loyal," Sansa said. "All of this time."

"He was loyal...and a liar," Catelyn said. "For seventeen years he lied and let everyone believe..." Her grip tightened on Arya's arm and she winced at the bite of her mother's nails. "I understand the deception the first few years but why..."

Arya still hadn't fully absorbed what Howland Reed had said. He was saying that Jon wasn't actually her brother but her cousin. And that he was a _Targaryen._ The son of Prince Rhaegar who had, at one point, been heir to the iron throne. Daenerys claimed to be the last Targaryen but all along, Jon had been living in Winterfell unbeknownst to anyone but her father and Howland Reed. No one had suspected. Of course they hadn't. Honorable Ned Stark was too honest to lie.

"He did not want to take the risk," Howland said.

"The _risk_?" Catelyn released Arya and took a step forward. "What risk? After so many of years of marriage, did he truly believe I could not keep his secret? The truth would have put all of our family in danger. I would never have..." she shook her head.

"Lord Eddard took his vows very seriously," Howland said.

"Damn his vows. Family is more important than vows," Catelyn snapped.

"So I'm...a Sand then?" Jon asked. His voice was soft and his gaze far away as if he was not fully in his body. "The Tower of Joy is in Dorne, isn't it? I would be Jon Sand."

"No," Bran said. "You are not a bastard, Jon."

"He would have to be though," Robb said. "Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell."

"Before you were ever married, Rhaegar Targaryen had his marriage annulled and he and Lyanna were joined in a secret ceremony," Bran said "He never kidnapped her, you see. They loved each other. Jon was born as Jaehaerys Targaryen, but father changed it to Jon Snow. An easier name to hide from Robert."

"That would mean..." Robb took a slow step forward. "That Jon has a claim to the iron throne."

"A better claim than Daenerys," Sansa said. "Rhaegar was Aerys heir. Any of his children would have a better claim than her."

"That's not possible," Jon said. "I can't... I could never sit on the throne."

"No. And Daenerys would never allow it," Arya realized. She looked around at her family. "She has been fighting quite a long time to sit on the throne, and she's rested on her name as her claim. It's easy enough to insist that a Targaryen should be the ruler when you are the only Targaryen. Jon would challenge that." She glanced at Jon. "She would not step aside for him."

"And unfortunately, Jon does not have dragons," Robb realized. "Even if he stepped forward as a Targaryen, none of Daenerys' allies would leave her. The Dothraki and Unsullied chose her. The Greyjoys hate the Starks. The Dornish would never acknowledge Jon as legitimate. Not when Rhaegar set aside Elia Martell for Lyanna."

"Her numbers would stay the same," Arya said. "But if she knew of his name, she would consider him a threat."

"You think she would kill me?" Jon asked.

"Maybe," Arya said. "I'm not sure of her yet, but that's exactly the point. Until we are sure of what to do with this information, we can't say a word. Not to anyone. We must keep this a secret between the people in this room just like father did."

Robb was slow to acknowledge her statement. After all, perhaps part of him wanted an alternative to Daenerys Targaryen who was still a stranger to him. And who better to take her place than his own brother who he trusted more than anything. But when he saw Jon's confused and worried face he exhaled and nodded. "Yes. You're right."

"We'll keep it a secret," Sansa said. "Secrets are powerful. And then one day, if Daenerys Targaryen goes the same way as her father...maybe we can use that secret."

Arya nodded and looked to Bran.

"I've passed the secret on now," he said. "It's for you to decide what to do with it."

"And I've already kept the secret for some time," Howland said. "You can trust my lips."

Arya swallowed hard and looked to her mother-her mother who was still reeling from the news. She looked from Arya to Jon. Then she exhaled nodding. "I will not tell anyone. The truth would bring more war upon our house."

"Good." Arya looked to Jon. "Your secret is safe with us. I promise."

Jon gave her a grateful smile, and sent a bolt of guilt through Arya. Because, if she was honest, keeping his secret had not been her first thought. She too had thought of the possibility of Jon on the throne over Daenerys, and her immediate inclination was to go to Tywin and tell him the news.

But she knew better than that. If Tywin had known about Jon when he was a baby, he would have gladly had him killed along with the other Targaryen children. And while he might not hurt him now, he would be more than willing to use him. If he did...well Jon would be in great danger. She couldn't risk her brother like that. Besides, Tywin had already made peace with Daenerys. There was no need to start another war.

For now, she would have to keep the secret close and hope that, for once, she could get away with lying to Tywin Lannister.

* * *

The reveal of Jon's true name sobered Arya's family for the rest of the evening. They continue to speak quietly amongst themselves, trying to enjoy their last hours. But her mother had left shortly after swearing to keep Jon's secret. Arya didn't blame her of course. It was an awful lot for her to absorb.

Eventually, they left each other to sleep or to wander in the night until dawn came. Arya had a feeling that Jon had no intention of sleeping when he wandered off down the hall, staggering slightly beneath the weight of his own name. She wanted to go after him...to comfort him. But it seemed he needed to be alone for a bit.

The next morning, before dawn, Robb and the remainder of his men prepared to ride out for the Twins. Jon stood next to him, dark circles under his eyes but a determined look on his face. It seemed that fighting the dead was a welcome distraction from the truth of his birth.

Arya hugged both of her brothers as tightly as she could, bidding them both survive the long night. They told her to do the same.

"If the Night King passes us by and comes for Harrenhal, we'll be right behind him," Robb said, resting a hand on her arm. "So hold the castle until then. We'll come to your aid."

"And I'll come to yours if he stops at the Twins," Arya murmured. Her throat was thick with emotion but she kept the tears back.

"No doubt you will," Robb said, pulling her into one more hug. When he released her, Arya turned to Jon.

"This is all because of you, you know," she said. "Because you brought that wight south, you brought all of these people together. If we live...it will be because of you, Jon."

Jon smiled sadly. "I suppose me coming back from the dead was worth something then."

"You coming back would have been worth something even if you did absolutely nothing," Arya said. "You're my brother. Now and always."

Jon mussed her hair, his eyes glassy. "Keep Needle close, little sister." He glanced over her head and went a bit still. Arya turned to see her mother approaching to bid goodbye to Robb. She pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I feel like I am constantly watching you ride away to war," Catelyn said.

"I know," Robb said. "But I've always come back."

"You have." Catelyn pulled back, resting a hand on his cheek. "And you'll do the same today."

Then, surprisingly, she turned her gaze on Jon. He straightened and bowed his head. "My lady."

"I wish you good fortune in the battle," Catelyn said. "I hope you return safely with your brother."

Jon looked up at her in surprise. "I...I will try." He shook his head. "Lady Stark I..."

Catelyn shook her head, reaching out to take his hand. "You don't need to say anything. But I...do." She looked up at him. "I am sorry, Jon. For everything. Truly. I am sorry that my husband did not tell me the truth, because things may have been very different if I had known. But regardless of the truth...you deserved more kindness from me."

Jon shook his head. "You don't...need to apologize."

"I do," Catelyn said. "And I will again. But you must return safely first. Protect your brother at the Twins."

"I will," Jon said. "I swear it."

Arya swallowed hard. The truth of Jon's name had been a blow for their family. To realize that their father had lied. To realize that Jon was not their brother but their cousin. To realize that he was a true born Targaryen. But if nothing else, at least her mother was showing Jon some true kindness for the first time.

On the brink of the end of the world...grudges really did seem to fall away.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thus the truth of Jon is revealed and Arya wisely holds it as a secret for now. Of course she might not if she knew about Tywin's plans but he's keeping those close to the chest. Secrets abound. There are roughly three more chapters before the battle at large kicks into high gear, though Robb and Jon will see some action first. Hopefully you enjoy the build up and result! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	94. Chapter 94: Brothers

_**A/N: And we are back! More interesting conversations in this chapter as we continue to build toward the final confrontation. Hopefully you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 94: Brothers**

The days were getting darker and colder by the day, and not in a way that felt natural. Of course, the days shortened in a normal winter, but sometimes it seemed like the sun had only barely risen before it set again. It was an ever present warning that the dead grew closer. After all...it was not called the Long Night for nothing.

Old Nan used to weave fantastic tales about the Long Night of thousands of years ago. Children were born and grew old and died all in darkness. Even fires could not keep the people warm. The winter lasted one hundred years and the dead claimed every poor soul who died of starvation and cold as one of their own. It was only a pact between the First men and the Children of the Forest and the Last Hero that ultimately saved them all.

Arya was not sure how much truth there was to her story. A one hundred year winter would have surely killed all of humanity. Even if they survived the dead, food stores would not even last a decade of cold. In all likelihood, Old Nan exaggerated. She did have a talent for that.

It would be nice if the whole story had been fantasy-some silly story to scare children before they slept. But just enough of it was true to be a real threat.

Arya found herself staring out at the God's Eye again, wondering if perhaps it would finally freeze in the coming cold. A chilling breeze bit at her skin and she pulled her coat tighter around her.

 _I am a Stark,_ she told herself. _I am meant for the winter._

Somewhere in the night, a wolf howled, as if in agreement of her thoughts.

"You've been standing up here for some time, my lady."

Arya glanced over her shoulder to see Berric Dondarian approaching. "Have you been watching me?"

"No. Just noticing," Berric stopped beside her, leaning against the wall. "You don't want to catch a chill before the war begins."

"I don't catch a chill as easily as others," Arya said. "Perhaps you should take your own advice."

Berric laughed once. "I don't get catch a chill easily either. Not since I learned what death is. Its colder in that darkness than any chill these winters can conjure up."

Arya teased her finger along the flat of a dragon glass spike nailed into the stone. "How many times did you say you died?"

"Six," Berric said.

"And...who brought you back each time?" Arya asked.

"Thoros," Berric said. "He doesn't really know why the Lord of Light gave him such power, but he has never once failed me."

"And...is it only you who he can bring back from the dead?" Arya asked. "Or could he bring back others too."

Berric exhaled. "You fear for your brothers."

"I fear for all of my family," Arya said. "Lady Melisandre brought my brother Jon back from the dead once. If Robb falls...could she bring him back as well? Or Bran?"

"Its possible, but I'm afraid I don't know how it works," Berric said. "I'm not the one who speaks the words."

"Then can you tell me what it's like?" Arya asked. "To die and come back."

Berric smiled sadly. "How to describe it...let's see." He glanced at her. "Have you ever slipped and fallen into cold water?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Even in the summer in the north, the lakes and ponds are cold."

"Imagine then that you fell into the water in the dead of winter," Berric said. "When your soul is cut from your body, there's a sensation like falling. Plunging. Like dropping into a bottomless icy lake on a moonless night. You cannot see or hear or smell or taste. The only sensation is this deep...cold." He exhaled. "If there is something that comes after death, I do not know, for I don't remember it. I just remember the cold-and the warmth that came when Thoros' prayers pulled me back into my body."

Another gust blew over them and Arya shivered.

"And then there's the afterwards," Berric said. "Before I died the first time your father sent me to track down the Mountain and save the Riverlands from his terrible violence. At the time I set out, it was a job given to me by the Hand of the King. Nothing more. But then the Mountain nearly cleaved me in two. When I woke up it wasn't a task anymore. It was a _purpose_. I had to protect the Riverlands. Save the people. Execute anyone who threatened them. And I got the sense that if I tried to walk away from it all I would die all over again."

"So that's why you stayed with the Brotherhood," Arya said. "To protect the Riverlands."

"And I still am," Berric said. "Harrenhal is in the Riverlands. If we do not stop the dead here, who knows how many innocents will perish." He gave her a nod. "Perhaps that's why I'm grateful to you. Not many highborn ladies would stop to help a few peasants...or care about the life of a butcher's boy. Least of all a lady with the name Lannister."

"He was my friend," Arya said. "Of course I care."

Berric smiled softly. "I'm glad to hear it."

Arya tapped her fingers restlessly against the stone. "That...drive and purpose you talked about. What would happen if the Riverlands were saved forever and your task was done?"

Berric laughed once. "The Riverlands will never be completely safe if history is any indication."

"But say you did, hypothetically," Arya said. "Would you die?"

"I'm not sure," Berric said. "It is possible. Why do you ask?"

"Because...my brother," Arya said. "When Jon died, he was working to defeat the Night King and his army. If the Night King falls, will he die with him?"

"No," Berric said. "Your brother was different, my lady."

"Different how?" Arya asked.

"His mind was...preserved. Even when he was dead he was not fully dead," Berric said. "I spoke with the Lady Melisandre about it. Apparently he warged into his wolf until his soul was called back. I think it kept him more whole of a person." He shrugged. "Now of course he _is_ driven to defeat the dead. But that's not his only purpose. I could see it in his eyes. You Starks are a strange lot with strange gifts."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" Arya said. "I wouldn't call warging into wolves any stranger than bringing a man back from the dead."

"Perhaps not, but Thoros has seen wolves in the flames more than once," Berric said. "And the Lady Melisandre speaks of snow in the fires of her visions. A symbol of the north you call home."

"Why do they see wolves and snow?" Arya asked. "Does your lord think we're important?"

"I'll leave it to the priests to decipher that," Berric said.

"Wise decision. Your lord ought to pick better champions. The north serves the old gods," Arya said.

"And what of you, Lady Arya?" Berric asked.

"It's been some time since I prayed to any gods at all." Arya stepped back from the wall. "It's getting colder. I think I'll find a fire."

Berric gave her a nod but did not move from his place on the wall. He was a strange sort of man...but then again, what could she expect from a man who had seen death so many times?

She could not exactly blame him for serving a god who brought him back to life.

There were many fires lit throughout the Flowstone yard and the Outer ward, and soldiers crowded around them all to keep warm. Arya noticed a fire at the foot of the King's Pyre tower with only one person standing beside it, and was about to approach when she recognized the face through the flames. Oberyn Martell.

 _Better not,_ she thought. _I don't want to antagonize him any further._

"The fire is warm enough for two, Lady Arya," Oberyn said. "You needn't avoid me."

"Forgive me," Arya said. "It seemed that you wanted to avoid me now that we are on opposite sides."

"We aren't on opposite sides," Oberyn said. "It is the living against the dead and we are both alive."

"So when the dead are defeated the Martells and the Lannisters will set aside all of their differences?" Arya raised her eyebrows. "I'm so glad to hear it."

Oberyn smirked and gestured for her to join him. "Come, Lady Arya. I've always said my quarrel is not with you. And you don't want to lose any more fingers to the cold."

Arya's jaw tightened but none the less she approached the fire, stripping off her gloves to warm her hands. It was a relief. They were starting to grow numb. "I think I'm at less risk of frostbite than you," she told him. "You're Dornish. Accustomed to warm climates."

"I am indeed," Oberyn said. "Hence why I am staying close to the fire. But I don't think wolf's blood makes you completely immune." He tilted his head to the side. "I did wonder...after so many years in the south, is it more difficult to tolerate the cold? Or does the north never leave you?"

"It never leaves me," Arya said. "But I have adapted a bit more to the heat."

"You should visit Dorne sometime then and test your new strength," Oberyn said.

"A Lannister in Dorne," Arya said. "That would be a strange sight."

"Well, there has recently been a Martell in the west. It's not much stranger," Oberyn pointed out.

Arya shrugged, staring down at the flames.

"I am sorry about the recent...hostilities between us," Oberyn said. "I'm actually quite fond of you, Lady Arya. More so than any other Lannister though I know it isn't saying much."

Arya gave him a look. "It seems Tyrion should be your favorite Lannister."

"I find him a bit arrogant truth be told," Oberyn said. "And he talks too much. But he's my second favorite yes."

"I'm sure he'd be flattered to know," Arya said, slipping back on her gloves. "I know the recent hostilities aren't personal, Prince Oberyn. But you...serve a woman who could be a threat to my family. Forgive me if I am a little tense."

"You're not tense because of Daenerys Targaryen," Oberyn said. "That doesn't make you tense in Tyrion Lannister's company. It did not even make you tense in _her_ company. I saw you speaking the other day. You are tense because you know what the Martells want more than anything in the world...and you mean to stand in our way." He studied her. "I want to know why."

"Why what?" Arya asked.

"Why you are so protective of a monster like Tywin Lannister," Oberyn said. "A man who took you hostage and forced you to marry his son. You've never denied that he's done monstrous things. You should loathe him, you know that right? I can't understand why you don't."

Arya swallowed hard. "Neither do I." She stared into the flames, hoping that the shadows might hide her face. "I can't give you an explanation. I can't even give myself an explanation. I just..." She exhaled. "It's just how it is."

Oberyn was silent for a long time, as if still fighting to understand the way Arya's mind worked. But ultimately, he could not come up with a reason either.

"We should call a truce for now," Oberyn said. "Until this war is over. I hope to see you survive it."

Arya nodded once. "Like you said...the recent hostilities are personal. I hope that you survive the war as well." She dipped into a small bow. "Good night, Prince Oberyn."

Then, without another word, she left the warmth of the fire. But Oberyn's question still buzzed through her head. Why? Why _did_ she feel in anyway protective of a man who she should loathe? It was a question that had hovered at the back of her mind for so long with no satisfactory answer that eventually she just ignored it. It annoyed her that Oberyn had brought it back to the surface.

Even if it _was_ a question that deserved an answer.

* * *

Tywin stood at the window of his office, looking out across the fires. There were enough of them to make the courtyard nearly visible as every soldier struggled to fight the cold. Most of the people here were not overly used to cold. The people of the Reach and Dorne. The armies from Essos. Even in winter the generally escaped the harsher temperatures. In the West, the cold could be quite harsh, especially in the mountains, and this chill was similar to the worst winters at the Rock. But he knew the cold would only worsen as the dead grew closer.

Behind him, Kevan added a few more logs to the fire and the flames rose to consume them. "I wonder if this is what northerners deal with every winter."

"Presumably yes," Tywin said. "When I went north, the winter was almost at its end. It was lucky. Most of our men weren't accustomed to fighting in such conditions."

"And most of the soldiers here won't be accustomed to it here," Kevan pointed out. "The cold will take some before the dead do."

"It's likely," Tywin agreed, still looking out over the fires. He caught sight of a familiar shadow crossing between them. Arya. She was the smallest fighter at Harrenhal by quite a bit so it was easy spot her. She stopped by one of the fires to speak with another familiar figure. Oberyn Martell.

Tywin's jaw clenched slightly. Oberyn would likely know by now that Daenerys intended to put Tywin on trial, even if he did not know that Tywin struck the deal. Hopefully he would be smart enough not to mention it to Arya. Her finding out on the brink of this war would be catastrophic.

Besides, he didn't need her to come to blows with Oberyn Martell. The Lannister family had a rare chance at diplomacy with Dorne after he was gone and fighting their prince would certainly ruin that.

"What is it?" Kevan asked.

"Nothing." Tywin turned away from the window and crossed back to the table where lay a map of Harrenhal spread out across the table. "It looks as if all of the walls will be well covered. The second trench will be completed within the next few days. And all of the towers have scorpions at their peak. It may not be enough to take down a dragon, but it will give us some chance."

"'Some chance' seems the best we can hope for," Kevan said, sitting down at the table. "Though I'll admit...I didn't think there was any chance of us making peace with Daenerys Targaryen. You managed that somehow."

Tywin didn't reply. He kept on studying the map, tracing a finger along the western wall. It was the most damaged at the top, but they had managed to fortify it well.

"Tywin?" Kevan asked. "How did you manage it?"

Tywin glanced up at his brother who was studying him carefully. Sometimes he forgot how experienced Kevan was with reading him. Ever since they were children, Kevan had followed him everywhere they went, and when they were old enough to ride to war, Kevan followed him then too and he had never stopped. Tywin had been so concerned about keeping the secret from Arya and Jaime that he had forgotten his younger brother. And unlike with his son and daughter in law...he did not have the energy to lie.

"I made Daenerys an offer," Tywin said at last. "One that was favorable to her and ensures that the Lannisters stay in control of the West."

Kevan looked down at his folded hands. "And what was that offer?"

"It seems as if you've already guessed it," Tywin said.

Kevan shook his head. "There...must be another way, Tywin. That can't be the only way."

"Do you think I would have made the offer if I saw another path?" Tywin asked.

"There is another path. Just a bloodier one."

"A bloody path that we are highly unlikely to win. I'm not a gambler. A loss like that would wipe our house from the continent." Irritation rose up in Tywin. "All of these years and you've never questioned my decisions. You must have disagreed with some of them. Thought I was going too far or being too severe. But you kept quiet. So why are you questioning me now?"

Kevan looked up at him. "Because you're my brother. And none of your previous decisions involved you surrendering your life."

Tywin fell silent and paced over to the fire. He was suddenly very cold.

"Lannisters have ruled the west for centuries, since the days before the Targaryens," Kevan said. "But no one respected the family sixty years ago. Not our bannermen and not the rest of Westeros. You're the only reason they did. It wasn'the _Lannister_ name they feared it was _Tywin_." He exhaled. "I'm...not sure what happens when you're gone."

"It would only be a matter of time whether I made the deal or not," Tywin said. "How much longer could I live? A decade? Two at the most. The family has to move on without me eventually."

"And you think Jaime is ready for that?" Kevan asked.

"More ready than he was, according to your reports," Tywin said. "And Lady Arya...shows a great deal of promise."

"She'll be fighting an uphill battle as a northerner in the west," Kevan said.

"I fought an uphill battle against our father's mistakes. She's survived enough battles to handle it," Tywin said. "And both of them will have you to help."

Kevan seemed surprised by this last time. "I...maybe, but I'm not you."

"Did I ask for you to be me?" Tywin asked. "I asked you to assist them, nothing more. You've assisted me for years. It shouldn't be difficult for you."

Kevan exhaled. "Of course...I'll help them. As much as I can."

"Good." Tywin strode back to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He needed a drink.

"Genna will protest, you know," Kevan pointed out. "Louder than I will."

"Oh I'm sure she will," Tywin said. "I can handle Genna."

"I'm not sure anyone can _truly_ handle Genna."

Tywin's mouth twitched and he took a long drink of his wine.

"Who else knows about this plan?" Kevan asked.

"The Dragon Queen. Tyrion. And you," Tywin said. "Perhaps Daenerys Targaryen has confided in others but if she is smart she will keep the arrangement to herself."

"So Jaime doesn't know," Kevan said.

"I'll tell him after the war...once we survive," Tywin said. "It's possible none of this will matter you know. We may all die before the next moon."

"True," Kevan raised his goblet. "Like you said. We only have 'some chance'."

Tywin raised his goblet in return. Sometimes he forgot how much his siblings looked to him. Even Tygett and Gerion who, before their deaths, had often argued with him, usually gave to his decisions in the end. Genna vexed him in every conversation they had, but she had never truly opposed him. And Kevan...Kevan was perhaps the most loyal of them all.

It was only a small few who would protest against Tywin's death. But that small few knew that he could not be talked out of a decision once he had made it.

Most of them anyway.

* * *

Jaime had taken off his hand to fight the cold. He did not want to give the frost a better chance at claiming it, and it was not as if he could hold a weapon in his golden hand. He kept close to a fire with some of his men, letting the flames warm the stump of his arm.

"Smart," Tyrion's voice came from off to the side. "Taking the hand off. I've always found it a bit ostentatious."

"Have you now?" Jaime glanced down at his brother.

"Yes," Tyrion said, stepping up to the fire and warming his hands. "You know, you ought to have asked the smiths to make you a dragonglass hand. That would be more useful."

"I'm not sure they have the time now," Jaime said. "I'm surprised you're here and not at the Twins with your queen."

"She thought it would be better if I stayed behind," Tyrion said. "She wants me to evacuate south if the dead move on to Harrenhal. Would prefer it if I wasn't caught up in the fighting."

"She's wise. You're her hand. Better not to risk you," Jaime said. "Finding a new hand can be difficult."

"You know that from personal experience I suppose," Tyrion glanced down at his stump.

Jaime gave him a look. "I'm so glad you still have bad jokes."

"What would I be without them?" Tyrion grinned. Then he glanced at the other men around the fire. "Will you give my brother and me a moment alone please?"

The men cleared off without much encouragement and the Lannister brothers were left standing across from each other, the fire between them.

"Something to say that they couldn't hear?" Jaime asked.

"I suppose they...could hear it. I'm sure some of them know more about this than me," Tyrion said. "I want to know what happened with Cersei."

Jaime looked away. "Oh."

"I heard the broad details," Tyrion said. "That she allied with Euron Greyjoy and took Casterly Rock. That she used my answer to the Farman problem to do it. At the end, she, Myrcella and Tommen all died. So did Euron, thank the gods. But...Arya did not give me much more information. I did not want to press her. I think the pain was still a bit fresh." He looked up at him. "So what exactly happened?"

Jaime did not want to go back to that moment. He had tried to erase it from his mind completely. Everything from the throne room through to when Arya returned to his room a confronted him about her brother.

"Jaime, please," Tyrion said. "However much she may have hated me and I hated her she is my sister. And they were my niece and nephew. Tell me."

Jaime exhaled. "Cersei...wanted Arya dead, which shouldn't come as a surprise. Euron Greyjoy cut her with a poison dagger, which I suppose should have been enough. If Cersei was content with Arya's death alone, she could have left it at that and let Arya die. But that wasn't all she wanted. She wanted to play a game with me as well." He rubbed a hand over his stump. "She poisoned herself as well and gave me the antidote. She said it was only enough for one and I had to choose."

"Seven hells," Tyrion said. "I know Cersei can be cruel but...why didn't she just..."

"Arya and I were married," Jaime said. "Perhaps Cersei wanted proof that my feelings were unchanged. She needed reassurance that I cared for her more."

"But you didn't give her that," Tyrion said. "You gave the antidote to Arya."

"I did," Jaime said. "I didn't want to play her game. Besides, I figured it was a bluff. She surely had another antidote." He let out a single mirthless laugh. "I was wrong. She didn't. The poison took her within the day." He exhaled. "As for Tommen and Myrcella, Euron snuck away in the chaos and killed them both. He...cut Myrcella's throat and stabbed Tommen in the chest. Arya killed Euron and watched Tommen die. Its no surprise she did not want to give you details."

"No. No surprise at all," Tyrion said. "It's a special kind of monster who can bring himself to hurt two sweet children like that."

"They were both grown by then I suppose," Jaime said.

"Barely. They were children when I left and they'll stay children in my memories," Tyrion said. "Fuck, what was father thinking sending Cersei off to Casterly Rock and not keeping an eye on her? He should have known better than that."

"He wanted her out of the way. Out of sight out of mind," Jaime said. "He sent you away too...and you came back with a dragon queen."

"Let's hope he's learned his lesson about sending children away then," Tyrion said. "Though when it comes to his children, father can be a bit of a slow learner."

Jaime nodded once, looking away. Across the yard he thought he saw Arya crossing through the fires. Though it just as easily could have been someone else's shadow.

"I'm surprised that you picked her," Tyrion said.

"What?" Jaime asked.

"Arya," Tyrion said. "I'm surprised you picked her instead of Cersei."

"It would have been cruel to do otherwise. Arya did nothing to deserve that," Jaime said.

"As if you haven't done cruel things for Cersei," Tyrion said. "There is a certain, god-like boy in this castle who could attest to that. Usually, you would let anyone die for Cersei."

"I thought she had the antidote," Jaime said.

"But you took the risk. Why?"

Jaime glared at him. "What is...the point of these questions, Tyrion?"

Tyrion gave him a sad smile. "Nothing. Forgive me, I don't mean to bring up bad memories. I just wanted to see if a theory of mine was right."

"Right about what?" Jaime asked.

Tyrion shrugged. "That you care for her as much as she cares for you."

Jaime sighed, brushing back his hair. "She doesn't care for me much anymore, Tyrion. Not since she found out the truth about her brother."

"Oh, she's angry at you to be sure. But she cares," Tyrion said. "You should have heard her defend you to Daenerys. She insisted that your crimes should be forgiven. Why would she do that if she did't care?"

"I'm not sure," Jaime said. "She once saved my life back before we were anything close to friends. It's just her way."

"None the less," Tyrion said. "We might be dead before long and marching in a blue eyed army. If you don't try to reconcile now, you may never get the chance."

Jaime stared into the flames. They were beginning to grow lower. They needed more fuel. "I'll think on it, Tyrion."

"Good," Tyrion said. "I'm glad we're in the same place again at least. Two brothers at the end of the world."

"Aren't you meant to head south before the end comes?" Jaime asked.

"I'm meant to, yes," Tyrion said. "But then I thought...father is staying and he hasn't been a great warrior in some time. I'm not about to leave and hide in the south. Why give him any more ammunition against me?"

"That's your reason? Spite against father?" Jaime asked. "I hope your spite will be some comfort when the dead are tearing you apart."

Tyrion grinned. "Thank you. I'm sure it will."

Jaime shook his head, a smile biting at his lips. His brother was an impossible sort of person on most days, and stubborn as an ox. But he could still make him laugh even in the darkest times.

Tyrion exhaled. "Jaime, there's also..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure of his words.

"Also what?" Jaime asked.

"Never mind," Tyrion said. "There's something else we need to talk about but...I think it should wait for now. Until after the war."

"Didn't you just lecture me about regrets?" Jaime asked. "You might as well say it now."

"No," Tyrion said. "I'm actually hoping the dead will tear us apart before it becomes relevant."

"Well, perhaps you'll get your wish," Jaime said. "We'll see soon."

Part of Jaime wished he would go south so that their family might have a chance of survival. But on the other hand, if Harrenhal fell...it would only be a matter of time before the south joined them.

Maybe if death was near certain, it was better to die with family than alone.

* * *

 _You were born Jaehaerys Targaryen. Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark._

The words had been circling Jon's brain ever since he learned the truth. All through the night as he wandered Harrenhal and every moment on the journey to the Twins. Even now, standing on the walls of the eastern tower of the Twins, he could not erase his true name from his mind, nor the lie that his father had told him.

For years, his bastard status haunted him. The name Snow was his curse that assured him he would never be a Stark like his father or his brothers or his sisters. He had the Stark blood but the name was all that mattered to anyone. And everyone he met reminded him of how he was less then. Snow. Snow. Snow.

Bran had told him that he was not a bastard...but his name was not one that he wanted. Targaryen. From when he was a child, Jon used to pretend to be various Targaryen princes and knights. But while he admired them he had never truly wanted to be a dragon or a prince or even a king. He wanted to truly belong to his family.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard one of the dragons cry out and a shiver went through him as he remembered, once again, his birth name.

 _Jaehaerys Targaryen._

Why did his father keep the truth from him for so long? Why did he lie?

"Jon?"

Jon exhaled as Robb approached, rubbing a hand over his face. "Have...the scouts spotted anything?"

"No," Robb said. "The first batallions of calvary returned with news of the Dead's movements. But the last three batallions...we've heard nothing from them."

"Did the dead stop?" Jon asked.

"Or they caught onto our plan and devised a counter attack," Robb said.

"That does seem more likely," Jon said. "The wights are mindless but the white walkers are not. They're smart. And according to Bran, the Night King can see bits and pieces of the future. We should have expected a counter strike."

Robb nodded once. "And...how are you?"

"I'll be better when the Night King is dead," Jon said.

"You know that's not what I mean," Robb replied.

An ice gust of wind whipped past them and stung Jon's face. He looked away from his brother. "I always looked at father as an honest man. The kind anyone could trust. Finding out he lied to me...to all of us...all of my life. And finding out that I'm..." He shook his head. "It's too much to process at the moment. For gods' sake, fighting the dead was supposed to be the most unbelievable thing."

"I know," Robb said. "It makes you wonder if father ever told other lies because he judged they were necessary. Though perhaps he didn't. Perhaps that was the only lie he ever told, because he wanted to protect you and honor his sister's memory. But...at least now you know you've never been a bastard."

"I wish I hadn't found out," Jon admitted.

"You'd rather keep thinking you were a Snow?" Robb asked.

"I'd rather keep thinking I was your brother," Jon said. "And Arya's brother. And Bran's and Sansa's and Rickon's. I'd rather keep thinking that I was the son of Ned Stark. That's all I wanted to be Robb. A Stark."

"You are," Robb said. "And you are my brother."

Jon let out a shaky breath.

"I'm serious Jon," Robb said. "When the war is over...I would see you named Stark."

Jon's brow furrowed and he looked up at Robb. "You...what?"

"I've been thinking of it for awhile," Robb said. "The only reason I didn't was because I did not want to hurt my mother. But now she knows the truth as well." He grasped Jon's shoulder. "Whoever sits on the throne when this is all done whether it's Daenerys or Tywin or anyone else...they would not deny you the Stark name if I asked. They've legitimized bastards before haven't they? If you want to be a Stark I will _make you_ a Stark."

"Do you mean that?" Jon asked.

"Yes," Robb said. "Seems a good way to hide truth."

Jon's throat was tight and for a moment he thought he might cry. But the wind would only freeze the tears on his face. He pulled his brother into a hug instead. Jon Stark. He could be Jon Stark and not Jaehaerys Targaryen. Damn the bloody truth. He was of the north and he had wolf's blood in him. Like his mother who he had never met. And like the father who had raised him.

He wished the happy moment could have lingered. But at that moment a horn blast came from the tower. One blast. Two blasts. Three. Jon whipped around and stared out into the dark of the night. He could not yet see the enemy, but clearly one of the scouts had.

"They're here," Robb muttered.

The words sent a shiver through Jon and he rested a hand on his sword. Would the dead stop and fight at the Twins or keep moving south. He was not sure which option was worse.

He kept staring out into the darkness, squinting to see. Then, very faintly, he could make out something blue. Tiny pinpricks of blue light like tiny fireflies appeared in the darkness. At first he counted only a few. Then ten. Then thirty. Then more and more and more. Hundreds of blue eyes, glowing in the darkness, approaching the keep step by step. _Thousands._

"How many of them are there?" Robb asked.

"Thousands," Jon said. He glanced to the side to see Jorah Mormont standing at the ready. "Mormont. Tell the catapults to loose fire on them."

"Is it wise to engage first?" Robb asked.

"Fire is the only way we'll see. We need to get an idea of their numbers," Jon said. "In fact, loose three, Ser Jorah. One at a time. Tell them to wait five seconds between each launch."

"I will," Jorah said, hurrying down the wall toward where the catapults were stationed.

Moments later, the first ball of fire was released. It hit the line of the dead and sent many falling, and the fire was just enough to make out the army. There truly were thousands of them, stretching far back over the Riverlands. And Jon could see horses among them. Calvary taken by the dead.

The second projectile flew and Jon noticed something strange. While a fair number of dead men were approaching the twins, more seemed to be walking in a different direction. Were they trying to surround the keep? No...no it was something else.

The third projectile flew and Jon's suspicions were confirmed. Most of the army was headed toward the river. Headed south. These dead men...

"They're headed to Harrenhal," Jon said.

"They're headed here as well," Robb said. "Do you really think they mean to split their forces?"

"Or split ours," Jon said.

"What's the situation?" Daenerys Targaryen asked, appearing on the battlements. It was the first time Jon had seen her since he discovered his name. She was his aunt by blood and she had no idea. He was lucky he wasn't born with silver hair like her. "Any sign of the dragon?"

"Not yet," Robb said. "It could be hiding above the clouds."

"I can fly above them and check if need be," Daenerys said.

"No, your grace, not yet," Robb said. "We don't want to fall into any traps. If we lose you or the dragons this early in the battle we're done for."

Daenerys nodded once and watched the dead approach. Their forces kept on marching forward until they at last came to a stop not far away from the first trench. They stood in a line, like a solid wall of dead men, stretched out across the plains. But they did not attack. They did not even move.

"Your grace!"

Daenerys turned to receive her Unsullied commander, Grey Worm. He had been posted at the other tower. "Yes, what is it?"

"Some of the dead crossed the river. It iced over when they walked. They've surrounded the western tower."

"They've surrounded this one too," Daenerys said. "So why aren't they attacking?"

"Because...they don't need to," Robb said. "They're just trying to split our forces...while the majority of them go south to Harrenhal. The Night King foresaw that if he marched all of his forces south, we could come from behind and flank him. This way he forces us to fight through this wall if we wish to help our people in the south."

Jon cursed under his breath. It seemed the Night King really did think. He made sure that they could not ride easily from the eastern or western towers without severe casualties...and even if they did ride at once, he would delay their progress south, perhaps just long enough for him to strike a decisive blow.

The war had begun...and the Night King was proving himself a capable opponent.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I didn't realize until I was almost done with this chapter that I had included three conversations between brothers so...there you go. That's how we have the name of the chapter. And YES the dead have arrived at the Twins. I said the battle wouldn't start for another few chapters, which is technically true. The main battle at Harrenhal will be probably spread across three chapters. At least according to my rough outline. We'll see if I end up needing more.**_

 _ **As usual, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	95. Chapter 95: The Proposition

_**A/N: Next chapter is here! And I have a feeling that some of you, based on your comments, are going to very much like this one lol. Hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 95: The Proposition**

For most of Bran's life, time had been a line that ran from the past to the present. From his birth to his eventual death. From the first recorded histories to the histories only newly finished. A succession of events that came one right after another and built upon each other in an easy to interpret fashion. But after he became the Three Eyed Raven, he realized that time had never been a line at all. It had been many lines all tangled together, interwoven in impossible knots. As the years passed, the knots became more and more complex until one could scarcely tell one thread from another.

And then there was the future. This amorphous collection of images that lay before Bran like an endless sea. So many futures. So many possibilities for success and failure. But they were beginning to fall away. With every move the dead and the living made, the future became a bit clearer. He could not yet tell if they would win or lose...but he had a better picture of how it could all end.

The Night King was beginning to make his play. He had caught onto the plan with the calvary as Bran assumed he would and sent small groups of wights around to flank the waiting horses. There were massive casualties, but he had not full replenished the numbers the first few waves of calvary took from him. It had also slowed them down enough for the Twins to finish fully fortifying its walls. In that way, the strategy had ultimately helped the living, even though it cost the lives of so many men.

Then the Night King encircled the Twins with about twenty thousand wights. Ten thousand on one tower and ten thousand on the other. But the majority of his wights continued south toward Harrenhal. The river had proved little problem for them as it froze solid to allow their passage. The Night King had anticipated all of their plans thus far and responded in kind.

Good. Bran wanted him over confident. If he was patient and cautious they would never win. The Night King could easily wait outside of Harrenhal for moons and moons until all of the food was gone and the soldiers inside starving. And he would...unless he was sure of a quick victory.

Bran had known from the moment the calvary attacks along the Neck were suggested that many of those men would die in the fighting. He knew that more would die at the Twins. And he also knew that not all of the refugees would makes it to King's Landing. In the future, he saw visions of a small force of wights sweeping over the stragglers, adding them to their army. There was nothing to be done about it now.

For Bran, it was almost like reading a history book. Casualties were a footnote in the wars he studied when he was a child. A thousand men perished here, ten thousand there, fifteen thousand were burned alive by dragonfire. The high lords played the game of war and sacrificed their soldiers as pawns to gain the advantage. Robb had done the same thing in the War of Five Kings when he sent two thousand men to die against Tywin Lannister just so he could surprise Jaime Lannister's army and take him captive. It hadn't mattered in the end. The north never did get the independence they were fighting for.

Bran did not understand, back then, how a man could send soldiers to their deaths so easily. Now he was the one playing with whole battlions like pawns. Because if he placed them just right and at just the right time...they could win.

"Bran."

And then maybe the deaths would mean something.

" _Bran_."

Bran dipped out of his visions and back into the present moment. He found his mother kneeling in front of him, grasping his hand in hers. Arya and Sansa stood shortly behind her. He wondered how long he had been in a trance.

"I'm sorry to pull you back," Catelyn said. "But the last of the refugees are departing the Riverlands. Sansa and I were about to leave with them."

"No," Bran murmured. "It's too late for that. You should both stay here."

Catelyn blinked, not understanding what he meant. "What do you mean?"

"Trust me, mother. You should stay here," Bran said. "Do not ask me to explain. I can't explain right now."

Catelyn straightened, glancing at Sansa in confusion. Arya took a step forward. "Has something happened?"

"Yes," Bran said. "The dead have reached the Twins and surrounded it. But they are not attacking. They send most of their forces south to us, moving quickly. They will be here in a few days."

The news rippled through his family as they all took it in. The Long Night was falling and soon they would all be facing their fates.

"Have you...does anyone know?" Arya asked.

"You do," Bran said. "You'll carry the news faster than I can. Find Lord Tywin."

Arya nodded once and took off running. Catelyn rested a hand on Bran's shoulder. "Are you sure then...that we should stay?"

"Yes," Bran murmured.

"Then we will. We trust your judgement."

Bran nodded once. He wondered if it was selfish of him to keep his mother and sister here. After all, he was willing to sacrifice so many other lives in this game of war. What right did he have to spare his loved ones?

 _Perhaps I am still human after all,_ he thought. It was human to want to see one's family safe over some nameless people he would never meet. But the Night King was not human. He could not beat him with selfish impulses.

 _Just this one time,_ Bran thought. _Just this one._

The present blurred out again as he entered the minds of the many ravens of Harrenhal. He watched as his sister delivered the news to Tywin Lannister. He watched the messengers spread far and wide across the keep and the fields outside with the news and he watched as the great host stirred and began to take their positions on the walls. He watched the soldiers pull into the safety of the castle.

And he watched the Army of the Dead grow ever closer.

* * *

That night, the keep became an extremely crowded place as nearly every soldier pulled back inside of the walls to await their fate. But Jaime and Tyrion were able to find a room off in a secluded corner of the keep with a fire to keep them warm. Tyrion called it a 'last fire for a last drink'. The morbid cynicism might have dampened Jaime's spirits if he did not say the words with a smile.

"How long did Bran Stark say we had?" Tyrion asked.

"A day," Jaime said. "Two at the most."

"Well..." Tyrion raised his goblet. "Cheers to the second Long Night. I always wondered what it would be like to live in interesting times and here we are."

"If only we lived in boring times," Jaime said. "I suppose we'd complain about everything then as well."

"Humans are quite good at complaining, aren't they?" Tyrion asked. "Have you spoken with your dear wife about the end of the world?"

"No," Jaime said. "We've both been busy."

"Well you're not busy now," Tyrion said. "You're drinking with me. There are so many better things to do."

"I can leave if you wish," Jaime started to stand but his brother caught his wrist.

"No, no, _stay_ ," Tyrion said. "I need someone to help me drink away my fear."

"Don't drink too much," Jaime said. "We may need that mind of yours in the battle."

"My mind works just as well under the influence of wine as it does without it," Tyrion said. "In fact...I'm not convinced that my intellect does not improve with wine."

"Father would disagree," Jaime said. "He always said wine dulled the mind."

"Gods, don't bring _him_ into this," Tyrion said. "We were having such a good time."

Jaime laughed, sipping at his cup. Behind them the door opened and Jaime glanced over his shoulder to see Arya and her sister entering. He stood to his feet. "Lady Arya."

Arya stopped in her tracks, looking surprised to see him. "Jaime." She glanced at Tyrion. "I'm sorry, are we interrupting? We can find a different fire."

"No, no. The Lannister brothers would welcome the company of the Stark sisters," Tyrion said, motioning for them to join them. "Please, please. There is wine to spare."

"Its flattering that you still call us Starks, Lord Tyrion," Sansa said. "Considering we were both married."

"Call a wolf by any other name and its still a wolf, don't you think?" Tyrion stood, moving over to the table to pour two new goblets. "But if we're speaking of names, I'm afraid there are quite a few Lannisters in this room, Lady Sansa. We outnumber you."

"I can handle Lannisters, Lord Tyrion. I promise," Sansa said. "But no wine for me. Thank you for the offer."

"It is the best thing for the nerves," Tyrion said.

"All the same, I'd rather not," Sansa said.

"Suit yourself. I'll drink in your stead." Tyrion offered one of the goblets to Arya which she accepted. She glanced at Jaime as she drank but looked quickly away when she noticed him watching her.

"I'm surprised you are not going south, Lady Sansa," Jaime said.

"Bran advised me not to leave," Sansa said. "I'm not sure why but...I have learned not to ask questions when Bran is involved. I trust him."

"And where will you and your mother hide during the battle?" Tyrion asked.

"I'm not sure. I believe mother will be in one of the towers with the other commanders. She will want to watch the battle unfold so...she will insist," Sansa said. "As for me...well there are cellars in the great hall. I may find a place to hide there if the wall falls."

"It won't come to that," Arya said firmly. "We'll keep them back."

Jaime let his gaze linger on her again. He could read the tension in her jaw as she sipped at her wine. She was comforting herself with the certainty of victory even though she knew that defeat was just as likely. It was the first time she had been a part of the defense of a castle, after all. Anyone would be nervous.

"Yes, if one single wight scales the wall, they will take one look at the Lady Arya and flee," Tyrion agreed. "You shall be safe, Lady Sansa."

Sansa smiled. "I'm sure I will be."

The door behind them slammed open and Arya spun, resting a hand at the sword on her hip. But it was only Bronn and Podrick stumbling through.

"There you are, you bastard," Bronn said. "We were looking everywhere for you. Drinking with out us."

"It seems you've already started the drinking," Tyrion said.

"Aye. Nothing like a drink the night before battle. That and a woman but they've all fled south." He glanced at Arya and Sansa giving them a bow. "Meaning no disrespect, m'ladies."

"Oh don't be respectful on our account Bronn," Arya said. "It doesn't suit you."

Bronn grinned. "I won't then. Thank you."

"The wine is on the table," Tyrion gestured. "Podrick, pour some for yourself and Ser Bronn. And then more for me if you don't mind."

"Thank you, my lord," Podrick bobbed his head and set himself to the task.

"Good lad," Bronn said. "He's getting much better with the blade, you know. Not totally useless. Might even manage to kill a few wights if he's lucky."

"High praise from you," Jaime said. "I'm sure he'll kill more than a few. You look like a strong lad, Podrick."

Podrick smiled at the compliment and Jaime tried not to think about that he would probably be dead soon. That was why a drink was necessary on the night of battle. It staved off such thoughts.

Again, he glanced at Arya who was still sipping her drink. He wondered, not for the first time, if she would meet her end at Harrenhal. Would her good luck run out? Would he find her lying dead in the courtyard or, worse, blue eyed and swinging her valyrian steel sword at his head?

She met his gaze again and he looked away, draining the rest of his drink. He couldn't think about that right now.

Again the door opened and Tyrion cursed. "Apparently our room is getting popular."

A hulking shadow passed through the threshold and Jaime immediately recognized the shape as Sandor Clegane. The Hound. When did _he_ get here?

"Sandor Clegane?" Tyrion tilted his head. "Aren't you a fugitive?"

"So what if I am. You gonna turn me in, imp?" the Hound said.

"I'm not sure that would be to our benefit," Tyrion said. "How did you get into the keep?"

"He's with the Brotherhood," Arya said. "So he'll fight with them against the dead."

Jaime's brow furrowed. He knew that Arya didn't like the Hound very much. Not since he killed her friend on the Kingsroad. But apparently she had set that aside for the end of the world.

"It will be good to have your sword on our side," Sansa spoke up. "I've seen you use it well."

The Hound seemed to freeze for a moment when she talked to him but quickly regained himself. "I'll use it as best as I can, little bird."

Sansa smiled at the name, like it was some old joke of theirs.

"Yes, happy to have a beast like you," Bronn stepped forward. "Been awhile, Clegane."

"Who the fuck are you?" the Hound asked.

"Ser Bronn. We met before the Battle of the Blackwater," Bronn said. "I'm not offended you've forgotten me. But you're a hard man to forget with your ugly face."

"Oh I do remember you," Clegane said. "You were asking for a beating then and you're asking for one now."

"Do we really need to kill each other before the dead get here?" Sansa asked.

"Who said anything about killing, m'lady?" Bronn asked. "I just wanted to spar with him. See what the Hound is made of."

"I don't think you should pick fights with dogs that are so much bigger than you, Bronn," Tyrion said.

"He's big, aye. But how fast is he? That's the question," Bronn strode forward. "What do you say, Clegane? Pass the time with us?"

The Hound exhaled. "Fine. Not like I've got anything better to do. Most of the Brotherhood are praying."

"No praying here. We promise," Tyrion said.

Sansa laughed once, filling a goblet and crossing to the Hound to give it to him. Clegane took it carefully from her and drank long and deep. Then he gave her a small nod.

"That's an interesting pair there," Jaime murmured, leaning over to Tyrion. "Do they know each other?"

"The Hound was still guarding Joffrey when Sansa was prisoner," Tyrion said. "Of all of Joffrey's guards though, I think he was the only one who showed her any sort of kindness. Felt sorry for her, I suppose."

"I see," Jaime said. Perhaps even a vicious hound like Sandor Clegane could be softened by the right presence.

When the Hound had finished drinking he stepped away from Sansa and drew his sword. Bronn followed suit, turning the blade in his hand.

"Lady Arya?" Tyrion called out. "Care to make a bet? I say the Hound knocks Bronn to the ground."

"Thank you m'lord," Bronn said. "I appreciate the confidence."

"I'll take that bet," Arya said. "I favor the smaller fighters. Besides, Ser Bronn is quick."

"So is the Hound, for his size," Tyrion said. "A gold dragon then."

"Done."

"Are you two finished betting?" the Hound asked. "Can we get on with the fight?"

"Yes, yes," Tyrion banged his fist against the arm of his chair. "Fight on, brave warriors."

The match began and the Hound took a swing at Bronn which he easily dodged. The man had excellent footwork, after all. But Jaime had to say he favored Tyrion's bet. He had seen the Hound fight and he was very quick for someone of his size. In a fight to the death, he would over power Bronn. But maybe, since this was a sparring match, he would hold back and give Bronn the upper hand.

It was rather like watching a hound fighting a cat. Bronn spun circles around Sandor Clegane and it took the man a moment to catch up. But as he began to learn Bronn's patterns, he anticipated and was able to drive Bronn back toward the wall. Bronn had to duck and roll under a strike from his sword, wacking Clegane on the leg with the flat of his blade as he passed. The Hound growled and lunged at him but Bronn laughed and stepped back out of the way. Podrick laughed as well, clapping his hands in support of his friend and Tyrion bid the Hound to put his back into it.

"I have my money on the line, you know."

"Then maybe I'll lose and give the girl some coin, Lannister."

"She doesn't need it! She's a Lannister too."

Arya smacked Tyrion over the back of the head as she passed him and found a place to lean against the wall to watch the figh unfold.

This was a familiar scene to Jaime. The night before battle, there was always drinking and sparring and laughter. It was a tradition to stave off thoughts of death with any possible distraction. But if one looked close enough, they could see the fear in every person. In the way Sansa Stark threaded her fingers tightly together. In the way Podrick shifted nervously from foot to foot as he watched Bronn and the Hound spar. In the way that Bronn laughed louder than usual, as if to convince everyone that he had never been better in his life. In the way Arya hovered in the shadows, her smile fading as she remembered the soon to come war.

It was Arya he could not help but watch, even as the Hound and Bronn's sparring match escalated. He watched her expression shift from a grin to a sad smile to a blank look with just a tinge of fear in her eyes. Her grip tightened on her mug and she looked around as if for an escape. Then she crossed to her sister and whispered something in her ear. Sansa nodded once, smiling and giving Arya's arm a gentle squeeze. Then Arya left the room with one last brief glance at Jaime.

Jaime stared at the door for a long moment until Tyrion kicked him in the leg. Jaime shot him a glare but Tyrion just gave him a pointed look and jerked his head in the direction in which Arya had left.

Jaime exhaled and stood to his feet. "I'll see you later then, brother."

"Yes. Later," Tyrion agreed, raising his goblet. Jaime rolled his eyes then hurried after Arya.

* * *

Arya could not explain her sudden need to leave the room. Perhaps it was the sudden realization that everyone inside could be dead within a few days. Perhaps she was just tired. But whatever the case, the fear and the worry came over her quickly. She had asked Sansa if she would be okay without her and Sansa assured her that she would be. That was all Arya needed to excuse herself from the room.

She passed a few soldiers in the hall as she searched for some solitary place. The first room she opened was occupied. So was the second. Then finally, she found another empty space and ducked inside, releasing a breath.

A fire was already lit in the hearth. Perhaps someone had been there not long ago. She crossed to it, poking the logs a bit to stir up the flames.

The door creaked behind her and Arya turned, raising the poker in front of her. Across the room, Arya recognized Jaime's shape in shadows cast by the light of the fire. For a long moment, neither of them spoke and the silence of the room seemed suffocating. It was that distance again. That impossible distance that had been between them for nearly a year now even when they were only a few paces away. Arya hated the feeling of it...and she despised herself for hating it.

"It seems...we will be at war again soon," she said at last. Her voice was thin to her own ears. It did not quite fill the space.

"Yes, if your brother is to be believed. And he seems to be a reliable source," Jaime murmured.

Arya nodded once, returning the poker to its rightful place. "You've spoken with him, haven't you? Since your return."

"I have."

"That must have...been an interesting meeting."

"Your brother is an interesting person." Jaime circled the room, turning his goblet in his hand. "It's a strange feeling...talking to someone who you know could peer back into every moment of your life and lay it out for you like a book. He knew about the day I killed Aerys and why. Only two other people in the world know about that...and I assume that you did not tell him."

"I didn't," Arya said. "He remembered his fall as well."

"I know," Jaime said. "It seems he refuses to seek out justice for himself. He says his fall was necessary. I don't quite believe that excuses it. So I offered my services to him...that if he ever needs anything from me, I will give it to him."

Arya nodded once, looking down her hands. "Good. That's a start I suppose."

The silence settled over them again, torturous and enduring. Jaime exhaled, glancing down at Arya's sword. "How go your sessions with your water dancing teacher?"

"Well enough," Arya said. "I asked him to stay in King's Landing. It may be selfish of me to deny our forces a gifted sword, but I'd rather not lose my teacher again."

"Of course not," Jaime said. "I haven't kept up with my practice as often as I'd like. I haven't had my teacher."

Arya's neck warmed at the comment and her mouth twitched. "Well you can't go into battle without practice." She grasped her sword, sliding it from its sheath. "Draw your sword, ser."

A slow smile spread across Jaime's face and he complied, turning the blade once in his hand as he stepped forward. They stopped a few feet away from each other, just a sword's length apart. It was the closest they had been in some time. Sparring was, after all, how they had first closed the gap between them many years ago.

Arya struck first, testing at his defenses. He defected with a flick of his wrist. She tried again, this time at his other side, but he blocked that strike just as easily.

"Well your reflexes seem adequate," Arya speculated.

"Thank you," Jaime said. He took a swipe at her and she backed out of the way easily. "So do yours."

Arya smirked, stepping to the left. He mirrored her, and for a moment they circled each other. The silence was not quite so oppressive now.

Then she lunged at him and their swords met with a resounding clang. In the fire light, they seemed almost to create sparks each time they hit. And with each and every strike, the distance between them seemed to close. This was something familiar...almost like muscle memory, and though it had been a long time since they had done this, they both slowly slipped back into the rhythm of their old dance.

In the midst of the sparring, Arya couldn't help but notice that Jaime had been lying about his practice. He was good. Better than the last time they had fought. She imagined he had not gone one single day without drilling. But before she could wonder for too long on why he had bothered lying, he very nearly trapped her against the wall and she had to spin under him to avoid being cornered. He spun with her, quick as a pouncing cat and brought the tip of his sword level with her neck before she could block him.

"Dead," he said, a cheeky grin on his face.

Arya's eyes narrowed. "I think you've gotten better, not worse."

"Maybe," Jaime said, stepping a bit closer to her. "Or maybe you always dodge the same way when I corner you." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you yield?"

"What if I don't?" she asked. "Will you cut my throat?"

"And give you to the army of the dead?" Jaime asked. "I'm not so eager to doom humanity."

Arya sighed. "All right then. I yield. I would give you my sword but...you don't have a free hand."

"You're hilarious."

Arya smirked and slowly bent to lay her sword on the ground. Then in the same motion she rose again, closer to him, pulling her valyrian steel dagger from its sheath. He did not even have time to step away before she brushed the edge against his throat.

"And now its your turn to yield, ser."

He let out a single laugh of surprise. "I should have expected that."

"You should have. I always carry a knife," Arya said.

"See. I told you," Jaime lowered his sword and let it drop to the ground beside her own. "I'm out of practice."

"Out of practice with dodging knives?" Arya asked.

"No...Out of practice handling you," Jaime said.

Arya swallowed hard. Yes, they were both out of practice with that...but when they had swords in their hands, it felt a bit more natural. Now, they were closer than they had been a long time, and it made Arya nervous. Part of her wanted to step away to a safer distance. Part of her...

"Arya," Jaime murmured, and the sound of her name made her shiver. She let the knife drop from his throat and quickly sheathed it.

"Right. Sorry." She stepped back. "I'll just-"

He didn't let her take a second step. His arm looped around her waist and he pulled her back against him. Moments later, his lips were on hers.

The first time he kissed her was at their wedding. The second, at the Rock. Both had been over so quickly that Arya barely had time to process them. But this time...this time he lingered, and once her thoughts stopped racing, she started kissing him back.

His hold around her waist tightened and she gripped the collar of his shirt in her fingers. She felt his left hand graze up her arm until it came to rest on the side of her face. Neither of them were pulling away this time, and the awkwardness of the first kisses was nowhere to be found.

It would have been easy to get lost in that moment...if Arya could only forget the past.

It wasn't just her anger that welled up then. It was guilt. Guilt that she still had not told him the truth about Joffrey out of fear for how he would react. She could not let this keep going until she cleared the air. Until there were no more secrets between them.

She pulled back from the kiss, pushing slightly against his chest to put some distance between them again. He let out a heavy breath.

"I'm...sorry."

Arya shook her head. "No. It's not that...it's..." She swallowed hard. "There's something I need to tell you first. I should have told you a long time ago. I almost did...after you told me about Bran. But I didn't because...if I'm honest, I did not want to give you any ground to stand on."

Jaime pulled back to study at her. "What are you talking about?"

She stepped fully out of his arms, pacing toward the fire. "A very long time ago, the last time I was at Harrenhal, I gained the favor of a faceless man. I had saved him and two of his companions and for that, he owed me three lives. I used the first two of them here. I saved the third. For months and months, I saved the third until the faceless man found me again in King's Landing to collect on that name." Her hands clenched into fists and her nails dug into her palms. "Then Tommen was nearly assassinated and so was your father, by someone who wanted to frame the north. And Robb was riding south to kneel before Joffrey. I knew if I didn't do something, he was going to die. So I gave the third name to Jaqen." She forced herself to turn back to face Jaime. "I gave him Joffrey's name...and he died the next day."

Jaime's brow furrowed. Arya could see in his eyes that her story had not fully registered. He was still trying to wrap his head around her words. "You...what?"

"I killed Joffrey," Arya said. "I don't regret that I did it because he was a wretched, evil boy and he would have killed Robb if I hadn't. But you'd be right to hate me for it anyway. Because I know it was because he died that your brother was sent away and your sister spiraled out of control. And even if you didn't have any great love for him, he was your son."

"Father sent away Tyrion..." Jaime blinked a few times. "My father knew didn't he? He knew it was you and laid the blame on Tyrion so that no one would discover the truth."

"Yes," Arya said. "That's the reason for that argument we had. The reason your father didn't talk to me for a year. I hated that Tyrion took the fall for what I did."

"And does Tyrion know?" Jaime asked.

"Yes. He figured it out," Arya said. "He and your father are the only ones who know. And now you. I haven't even told my family."

Jaime nodded once, pacing to the other side of the room. She could practically hear his mind racing from here.

"You said that if I was in your shoes that I would have killed anyone, no matter how innocent to save my family," Arya murmured. "Joffrey wasn't innocent. He killed my father and he killed many others. He almost beat me to death once and he abused my sister. It made the choice easy for me. But...but even if he was as kind as Tommen, I'm sure I would have killed him. If it was the only way to save my family." Jaime did not reply and Arya let out a frustrated breath. "Say something. Curse me if you need to just _say_ something."

Slowly, Jaime turned back to face her. "I'm not going to curse you. It would make me quite the hypocrite."

"Do you think I'm a hypocrite then?" Arya asked.

"No," Jaime said. "As you said...Your brother was innocent. Joffrey was a monster in the making who tried to kill his little brother and grandfather. He may have succeeded later...if you hadn't killed him then." He exhaled. "Yet when he died, I lost my brother and my sister in order to cover it up."

"I know," Arya said. "I'm sorry for that...if not for what I did."

"We both have reasons to be furious at each other it seems," Jaime said. "And on the brink of an eternal winter too. If only there was time to deal with it all."

"Perhaps we'll both die and none of it will matter anymore," Arya murmured.

"Perhaps." Jaime exhaled and crossed to her. His left hand rested on her arm. "I have a proposition, my lady."

"And what's that?" Arya asked.

"That if both of us make it through this awful war alive...we leave the past behind us. Call it even, as it were. You and your brother have refused to bring me to justice, and I will not expose your secret either." His thumb stroked across her shoulder. "And then we'll have the time to...figure out how to live with each other."

Arya nodded. His offer felt like something of a relief. No matter what terrible things he had done, she still cared about him and she was guilty for that. But this was permission to let at least some of that terrible guilt go. They could call it even.

Jaime smiled at her, and placed a kiss on her forehead. There were no more secrets between them now and the distance had closed.

Now they only had to survive the end of the world.

* * *

 _ **A/N: All the secrets are out in the open and a deal is struck! Hope you guys enjoyed the Arya x Jaime scene you've been asking for in your reviews. And of course a look inside Bran's head and some prebattle fun. Next time, more battle at the Twins and perhaps the beginning to the battle proper. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	96. Chapter 96: The Beginning of the End

_**A/N: This is the longest chapter I've ever written. It's over 7,000 words long. So much content I had to write and here it is for all of you. Hope you all enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 96: The Beginning of the End**

Jon had felt helpless like this more than once. He recalled sitting in a boat, looking back at the shores of Hardhome, helpless to save any of the terrified wildlings as the wights killed all those who could not make it to the ships. He recalled watching the Night King step through the masses of the dead and raise them all into his army. And all the while, Jon could do nothing.

He felt that same sense of powerlessness now, looking out at some ten thousand dead men while tens of thousands more crossed the river and continued on south. To Harrenhal. To his younger siblings. His grip clenched on his sword. He could not...he could not sit here and leave them to die.

"Opening the gates could be disastrous," Barristan Selmy said. "We have the numbers to beat them in the field perhaps, but not without massive casualties."

"We have a good deal of horses in the stables," Jorah Mormont pointed out. "We could try to break through their ranks and lead them off. Scatter them perhaps. It would make it easier to pick them off."

"If need be I can burn you a path," Daenerys Targaryen said. "They're not immune to fire. My dragons cannot kill ten thousand in one fell swoop but I can at least keep them at bay."

"I worry about a trap," Robb said. "The second you get onto your dragon, the undead beast could descend from above. The cloud cover is thick. He could be up there right now and we won't know."

"You're right." Jon turned to the others. "But we need to draw the Night King out sooner or later. I don't like not knowing where he is."

"Neither do I," Daenerys said. "I can fly low to give myself time to react. Either the Night King stays in hiding and I make a path or he comes out of hiding and we have a chance to end this once and for all, before the dead even reach Harrenhal."

"If we do manage to defeat this section of the army, it will be a hard ride south," Jorah speculated. "The undead could set other traps for us. They've already been anticipating our moves. Our last few battalions of cavalry have not come south with any news. I fear they are lost."

"We must assume that, yes," Robb said. "Which means they might come back to kill us or our allies."

"There is another way that we can eliminate the dead," Jon said. "A group of this size must have at least a few white walkers with them. If, in the fighting, we can kill one or two, we improve our chances."

"If we're lucky I'll catch one of them in Drogon's flames," Daenerys said. "All right. From which tower do we make our play?"

"The western tower," Robb said. "Otherwise we'll have to cross the frozen river. And if we try to break through the wights at the eastern tower, the wights to the west will have plenty of time to set up a defense as we go south."

"We can use the siege weapons from this tower," Greyworm said. "If the ten thousand from here try to cross the river, we'll meet them with fire."

"Good," Daenerys said, resting a hand on Greyworm's arm. "Keep a small garrison here, my friend. Do what you can to keep any more wights from following us south."

Greyworm nodded once. "Yes, my queen."

"It's settled. We move most of the troops across the bridge," Robb said. "Then when the majority of the undead army is out of sight we deal with the stragglers and move south with all possible haste."

Jon let out a shaky breath, gripping tight to his sword. There was no way they would get through this battle without casualties. The Night King had ensured that. But if they could not provide reinforcements to Harrenhal, the dead would almost surely overwhelm them.

They would have to see what dragon fire was worth in this Long Night.

* * *

Jon sat on a horse next to his brother, staring straight ahead at the gate to the Twins. Over the past few hours, they had shifted their troops to the western tower and gave every horse they had a soldier to ride them. Now they waited in the silence. Beside and behind him, horses shifted uncomfortably and men gripped their reigns in trembling hands, trying to keep calm. Many of them were soldiers who had seen more than one battle. Some had never seen war at all. And all were prepared to lay down their lives.

The waiting was the worst part, but if they attacked too soon, the Night King's army might turn back to attack them, wiping them all out in one fell swoop. They had to give the dead a chance to move south, out of sight. Then they could deal with the twenty thousand stragglers.

At last, the signal came from the walls. It was almost time. Slowly, the front gate began to open and an icy blast of wind cut through it, warning of the danger that lay beyond. As it rose, Jon could peer out into the darkness and see the blue eyes watching them, peering through the gate as it slowly creaked up.

Then the gate stopped, and the world was once again silence. The living in the dead stayed absolutely still, staring each other down through the entrance to the Twins. Waiting to see who would make the first move.

Then the blue eyes began to shift. They rippled through the darkness like a wave, and some of those tiny blue dots began to get larger. Their owner's screeched and growled as they scrambled over the snowy landscape, eager to make use of the gap in the defenses of the Twins. Jon heard their teeth clacking and their horrid shrieks echoing from the night. Coming closer. Closer. Closer.

Then there was a roar. Daenerys Targaryen descended from above on her black dragon, cutting a line of fire through the wights and sending many of them scattering. As she cut down through their ranks, the green dragon Rhaegal, cut across, bathing the front lines in flame. It revealed a gap large enough to drive their cavalry through.

" _Charge_ ," Robb cried out. Their forces surged forward, charging the scattering wights, meaning to make use of the path Daenerys had carved. The warmth of the fire was welcome in the icy cold of the night, and it decimated every wight caught in it's path.

But the gap created by her dragons was not permanent. As the flames died, the remaining wights surged back together to meet their charging forces head on. Jon let out a roar and cut through three soldiers with a great sweep of Longclaw. Horses squealed but did not slow as they broke through their forces. They had the advantage this way. The dead did not have cavalry. Jon kept on cutting and slashing blindly at the enemy as they pressed forward further and further until they broke out the other side.

"Go!" he said. "Go south! Keep riding!"

The cavalry did exactly that, with all haste. Some of the wights followed, but many others seemed confused. They had been ordered to stay at the Twins after all, not to follow the living. It was possible that if they continued south, the could avoid many of the wights. Jon let out a breath of relief at the thought.

It was only then that Jon had realized he lost Robb's voice at some point in the chaos. He wheeled his horse around, searching for his brother but did not find him near.

 _He got ahead of you,_ he told himself. _He's fine._

But he did not turn to go forward. He waited, cutting the heads from the few wights who got near him, hunting for his brother in the darkness. " _Robb!"_

It was in his searching that his gaze caught upon another figure standing several paces away-pale and blue eyed, with a sword of ice in his hand. A white walker. Jon barred his teeth.

 _There you are._

A horse broke from the ranks of the wights, charging at the white walker. It took Jon only a moment to recognize his brother. The white walker moved quickly, whipping around and slicing the front legs from the steed. Robb tumbled from the horse and hit the ground rolling. Jon could see blood streaming down one side of his face, though Jon could not tell where it came from. Robb struggled to his feet as the white walker advanced on him and blocked its blade as it fell.

Jon let out a hiss and urged his horse forward into a gallop. He cut through wights left and right, clearing a path as Robb lost his feet and fell to the ground. The white walker raised his blade.

A roar tore from Jon's throat as he threw himself from his horse, bringing down his sword on the white walker's head. It shattered in the wake of the blade and Jon hit the ground hard, gasping for breath. All around them, thousands of wights fell and those that did not were quickly overwhelmed by the rallying soldiers.

"Robb," Jon coughed, pushing himself to his feet. "Are you..."

"I'm fine," Robb said hoarsely. There was a nasty cut across his eye which accounted for the blood streaming down his face. "One of the bastards...got my eye."

"Did he get any other part of you?" Jon asked, gripping his shoulder.

"No," Robb said. "I can still ride and fight."

"Once we stop the bleeding maybe," Jon said. "Come on."

He grasped his brother's arm and helped him to stand and get onto the horse. Behind them, another line of fire cut through the army of the dead. And for a moment it illuminated the darkness in front of them-and the enemy charging toward them.

This new wave came on horseback. Even from this distance, Jon could recognize the cavalry they had sent to their deaths. Northmen, dothraki, southerners. The dead had decimated them and now sent them in to swamp the living. It was too many for Jon and Robb to fight on their own.

"Ride," Jon muttered. "Ride as fast as you can. I'll hold them off."

"Jon, get on the fucking horse, now," Robb said, gripping his arm.

Jon looked up at him, smiling. "Make sure you lead the troops to Harrenhal." Then he smacked the horse's rear as hard as he could and sent the beast into a gallop. He thought he heard his brother cry his name but then it was lost in the darkness.

Jon shifted his grip on his sword, slowly turning back to face the charge. His fingers tingled and his heart pulsed painfully in his chest. And yet...he felt calm. This was not the first time he had faced certain death.

This would not be the first time he died.

He raised his sword, breathing in deep, preparing for the final moments. Preparing for the undead cavalry to run him down. But just then something slammed to the ground behind him, so hard that it seemed to shake the world. Jon lost his footing and fell back just in time to hear a dragon roar. A blaze of fire burst forth, lighting up the cavalry and driving them back with its force. The green dragon, Rhaegal, had come to Jon's rescue.

Slowly, Jon struggled to his feet, watching the great beast in amazement. He could not comprehend why the creature would come to his aid. Even if it could sense his Targaryen blood inside of him...many with Targaryen blood had been killed by dragons in the past? But this dragon...

Jon noticed it's eyes then. They were strange, almost rolled back in its head. Jon had seen such eyes before when his brother slipped into the skin of other beasts or back in time.

 _Follow the green dragon._

"Bran," Jon whispered. Even this far apart, his younger brother was watching out for him. The green dragon let loose great tongues of flame upon the cavalry, absolutely decimating them, until all of their corpses had crumbled to the ground. If any of the horsemen had survived, it had been because they scattered.

The dragon shook its great head, looking to Jon, staring right into his eyes. He shifted his wing and lowered his shoulder just slightly to the ground.

 _Follow the green dragon._

 _Gods above,_ Jon thought. _I hope Daenerys Targaryen cannot see me in this darkness._

Then he swallowed his fear and hurried to the creature's side, crawling up onto his back. He grabbed hold of whatever he could, trying not to lose his stomach as the dragon shifted beneath him and launched into the air.

He was...flying. The world rushed beneath him, a sea of fire and ice, and the cold air nearly choked him when he breathed in. But Jon was flying on the back of a dragon just like in all of the songs. He could not describe the rush he felt in that moment, almost enough to completely erase the fear of the Night King and his vast army. He would have to thank Bran for giving him this small joy later.

For now he tightened his grip as the dragon dove closer to their retreating army, clearing out a few scattered wights with flame as they made their way south as quickly as they could.

* * *

Arya could not tell the time by the sun or stars. It was too dark for that and the thick clouds seemed to cover the whole world in night. She knew the night had lasted longer than it was meant to. Perhaps it would last forever.

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled and Arya stopped in her tracks to listen to it. She could not help but wonder if Nymeria had gotten far enough south. She was a smart creature. Surely she would know to run from the dead.

"When the snows fall and the cold winds blow. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

The voice startled Arya and she turned to see Bran peering at her through the adjacent doorway. He was sitting before a fire, his hands folded in his lap, looking as calm as ever. Slowly, Arya relaxed and went to him.

"Those are father's words," Arya said. "He would be pleased to see us facing the end together. As a pack." She knelt beside Bran, warming her hands by the fire. "Maybe that means we'll survive."

"Maybe," Bran said. He sounded neither hopeful nor resigned. She could glean no hints of the future from his expression. The distant wolf howl came again and his mouth twitched. "Nymeria has her pack at least."

"Nymeria," Arya said. "So that is her?"

"Yes," Bran said. "She's been keeping close these past few days. You did tell her to look after us, didn't you?"

"I did," Arya said with a small smile.

"Have you had any wolf dreams since you've been here?" Bran asked.

"I've barely had dreams at all. Sleep doesn't come easily in this place," Arya said. "Neither does warging. I could only ever manage it when I was desperate or afraid. It was a last resort."

"Perhaps you'll manage it during this battle," Bran said. "There will be lots of chances to be afraid."

"I don't doubt that," Arya said. "It's funny isn't it? Father used to warn us that winter would come one day. He called us summer children. All we knew was the warmth and we didn't know what real cold felt like."

"He was right," Bran said.

"The warmth isn't what I miss about the long summer though," Arya said. "I miss being a child who knew absolutely nothing of war." She looked at Bran. "Do you miss that too?"

"Maybe," Bran said. "Now I know almost everything about war. I've seen so many of them, they almost blend together."

"Would you give it up if you could?"

"I can't give it up, so it doesn't matter."

"But imagine that you could. Would you?"

Bran was silent for a long time, staring deep into the fire. "No...I don't think so. I'm not much use to our family in this chair. As the three eyed raven...I might be able to save everyone."

"You were useful to the family before you became the three eyed raven," Arya murmured, resting a hand over his. "And it's not your job to save everyone, Bran."

"Yes it is," Bran said. He said it with absolute certainty. "We all have our parts to play in this war. And if I play my part right...everyone will be saved."

"What about me?" Arya asked. "Is there anything I can do to play my part?"

"Trust your instincts," Bran said.

"That's it?"

"Yes. That's it." He looked up from the fire. "I have to go now. I need to take a look around."

"I'll stay with you," Arya said.

Bran gave her a small smile. Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

For a long time, Arya sat beside him and enjoyed the silence. She watched the fire dance in the hearth and wondered, not for the first time, what the red priests and priestesses saw about this night in the flames. She wondered what Bran saw as well. If they offered her a look into the future, would she see hope or despair.

 _Better not to know,_ she decided. _The future is too great a burden._

A long time later, Bran's eyes snapped back into place. Arya looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"The dead are nearly here," Bran murmured. He said it so softly that one could have mistaken it for a meaningless little statement. But those five little words made her chest seize with fear.

She stood quickly to her feet. "I'll...I'll spread the word."

Bran nodded. "All right."

Arya hovered for a moment before she bent to hug Bran tightly. "I'll see you again, Bran. Before it's all over. And after."

Bran smiled softly. "I know."

Without another word, Arya turned a scrambled from the room, off to find as many of the commanders as she could. All the while, Bran's words echoed in her head.

 _The dead are nearly here. The dead are nearly here._

 _The dead are here._

* * *

Tywin was writing a letter to be sent south to Queen Margaery when Jaime entered the room. He did not immediately look up as he was in the middle of a sentence. "What is the state of the defenses?"

"The defenses?" Jaime asked. His voice was strangely quiet.

"You checked the defenses at the western wall earlier, did you not?" Tywin asked. "Were there any gaps?"

"...No," Jaime said. "We'll have a tight line all the way around the castle. By the looks of it the southern wall is the least defended, but it's also the highest and there's no gate there. Not an ideal place from which to attack."

Tywin finished the letter and set down his quill, at last looking up. "Then what's wrong?"

Jaime did not answer immediately and he did not look at him. He tapped his left hand against the back of a chair with something like irritation.

"Jaime, if you have something to say, say it before the dead arrive," Tywin said.

Jaime exhaled. "Do you remember when you sent Tyrion away?"

"That's a ridiculous question. Of course I remember," Tywin said. "What about it?"

"I was just remembering that day," Jaime said. "I remember Cersei yelling quite a bit because she was outraged that he had escaped. She still believed Tyrion had killed Joffrey. I knew he hadn't of course. So did you, considering you had been the one to let him escape. But you couldn't pass up the opportunity to blackmail me into marriage." Jaime let out a single mirthless laugh. "I was angry at the time, of course. You let Tyrion take the fall for a crime he didn't commit because it was convenient."

"That was four years ago now," Tywin said. "And Tyrion has returned to Westeros. I don't see why this is relevant."

"I was just wondering if you'd ever found out who killed Joffrey," Jaime said, looking at him. "You must have had Varys looking for the real culprit and many others. Even if Joffrey wasn't a very good king and tried to have you assassinated...anyone who can get away with killing a king is dangerous. They could have been a threat to you or Tommen or any of the rest of the family. And you're not one to let threats to the family go unchecked."

Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Unfortunately, the real culprit was never found. But they never did attack another member of the family so it seems their business was with Joffrey and Joffrey alone."

"That is fortunate," Jaime said. "But in case you're interested, the true culprit just gave me a full confession not long ago."

Tywin exhaled. Frankly, it was surprising that Arya had gone this long without telling the truth to Jaime or anyone else she trusted. She had held her tongue for four years without fail. "You and your wife are speaking again, I see."

"You knew," Jaime said. "From the very beginning, you knew it was Arya who killed Joffrey."

"A faceless man killed Joffrey," Tywin said. "No money was exchanged. She said a name and nothing more."

"Let's not argue semantics," Jaime said. "Arya is behind Joffrey's death. Simple as that."

"And why should you care if she is?" Tywin asked. "You killed a wretched king yourself and escaped punishment. I can't imagine you've forgotten."

"It's not about the kingslaying. I don't begrudge her that," Jaime said. "In fact, I'm not angry at Arya for killing Joffrey. I had no real love for the boy and he may have grown as dangerous as Aerys if given enough time. I'm angry that Tyrion was blamed for it. I'm angry because it sent Cersei spiraling into madness. But why should I be angry with Arya about that? It wasn't her fault it was _yours_. You sent your son and daughter away to protect your new favorite child."

"You think that's what I was doing?" Tywin asked. "If I had punished Arya for killing the king, we would have launched into war with the north all over again, which was exactly what Joffrey and Lord Baelish wanted in the first place. And I was far more worried about Cersei's influence on Tommen than anything else when I sent her away."

"You can make whatever excuse you want, father. It won't erase the truth," Jaime said. "We were all disappointments to you, weren't we? Me, Tyrion, Cersei. We were disappointments that you couldn't use for your perfect legacy. So you started over with a brand new daughter. You protected her and left two of your children to rot in exchange."

Anger stirred in Tywin at the accusation. "Your brother isn't exactly rotting. He's hand of a queen because I let him go rather than letting Cersei have him. And Cersei? She was far beyond my help."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" Jaime asked.

"I don't think, I know," Tywin asked. "If she wasn't beyond help, then why couldn't you help her, Jaime?"

Jaime recoiled at the question, almost as if Tywin had slapped him. He might as well have. It was the cruelest question he could ask. Jaime ran a hand through his hair, stepping away from the table. He seemed to be trying to catch his breath. "I tried...at least. You never did."

Now Tywin looked away. This was ridiculous. It had nothing at all to do with their current situation. Cersei was long dead. Tyrion had returned to Westeros and was in a better position than ever. And with the Night king on his way south, what did any of this matter?

"What will happen, I wonder, if I die tomorrow?" Jaime asked. "Or if Arya dies. Or both. All of your meddling will be for nothing. It's almost tempting."

"You will not put yourself in danger, Jaime," Tywin said firmly.

"Well, we'll all be in danger, won't we? But don't worry. I'll stay alive for as long as I can. Just not for you." Jaime took a step back. "I suppose Arya and I were a good match for each other in the end. Two Kingslayers who escaped justice. Quite a pair." He gave a mock bow. "I wish you good fortune in the battle, father."

Then, before Tywin could reply, his son stalked from the room.

In the silence, Tywin felt a fresh wave of exhaustion. There was a reason that he had not wanted Arya to tell anyone, not even Jaime. Especially not Jaime. He had known the truth would make his son furious and this wasn't the time for Jaime to be losing his head.

But then again, perhaps the truth would make him less likely to protest when he found out Tywin's plans for after the war. That was a blessing at least.

The door creaked and Tywin looked up to see Catelyn Stark standing in the doorway. Her expression was unreadable but Tywin knew their voices must have carried past the door.

 _Seven hells,_ Tywin thought. "Lady Stark. How much did you hear?"

"Just the very end," Catelyn said, closing the door behind her. "So...Arya is a kingslayer is she? Which king?" Her voice and expression were calm as she asked. It seemed a question that did not need answering. "Joffrey, I expect. It's not a surprise that she found a way. It's just a surprise that you knew about it."

"I kept the secret to maintain peace in Westeros," Tywin said. "Your daughter was meant to keep the secret too, and did, apparently, until she told Jaime." He exhaled. "I assume you won't tell anyone. It could be dangerous for her if the secret spread."

"I won't tell anyone," Catelyn said softly. "Everyone seems to have their own secrets these days. Even people who seemed open and trustworthy."

"Shouldn't you be in the south right now?" Tywin asked, hoping to change the subject. He hoped that the woman was honest about how much she heard. Her listening any longer was unthinkable. "The last of the refugees have already gone."

"That was the plan, but Bran advised me against it," Catelyn said. "It seems wise to heed him. I will be here for the duration of the battle."

"I see," Tywin said.

"I heard that the commanders who cannot fight with the other soldiers plan to command from one of the towers," Catelyn said.

"Yes, the King's Pyre," Tywin said. "It has the best view of the battlefield. If we can see what is going on, we'll be able to command our soldiers to shift wherever they are needed."

"Good," Catelyn said. "Then I will watch the battle from there as well."

"I'm sure the cellars would be a safer place for you," Tywin said.

"I'm not concerned with safety," Catelyn said. "I would rather know what is happening than be safe. Besides, if the dead reach a tower in the center of the keep, it means the battle may already be lost and most of my children dead. The wights are welcome to take me then."

Tywin exhaled. He was sure she would be impossible to argue with, and it wasn't as if her safety was his responsibility anyway. "Suit yourself."

Catelyn inclined her head, wandering over to the window to look out over the courtyard. Tywin leaned forward a bit, studying her. "You came with another purpose as well."

"Yes," Catelyn said. "I want to know what happens if we survive this war with the dead."

Tywin folded his hands together. "I imagine a great many things could happen."

"You know what I mean," Catelyn said. "Robb told me about the meeting at the Dragonpit. It was quite hostile until you met separately with Daenerys Targaryen. Now she seems completely cooperative with this cause. No one knows exactly what you said to her in that meeting, and it really doesn't interest me. I just want to know whether or not her cooperation is temporary and if we might be seeing another war when this one is done."

"I see," Tywin said. "Well, we won't. Daenerys Targaryen will take the throne when all is said and done, but she wishes to take the path with the least bloodshed. That's why she's helping us in the first place. She wants to be seen as a hero of Westeros."

"People like to be seen as things they are not all the time," Catelyn said. "I still worry for my family."

"If your son bends the knee, she will allow him to remain warden of the north," Tywin said. "It isn't as if Robb did anything against her family. He was an infant when they fell."

"That's true, but I cannot help but think what the Targaryens did to his grandfather and uncle," Catelyn said. "Can you say with certainty that she is not her father?"

"No," Tywin said. "But if there is any madness in her, it has not taken yet. And there is more compassion in her, I suppose, than there ever was in him. It is better to take a chance on her ruling than fighting a war we can't win."

"I think the entire country would prefer peace instead of war," Catelyn agreed. "But it seems unlikely that she would be willing to live in peace with you. You mentioned that the dragon queen would forgive Robb because he was not alive when her family fell. But you were alive. Daenerys Targaryen seems much less likely to pardon you."

"It would make her look weak if she did," Tywin said. "None the less, there will be peace. I've ensured it."

"How?"

"That's not really your concern, Lady Stark."

"You made my daughter a Lannister. If the Lannisters are in danger because of your actions during the Rebellion, it's very much my concern."

Tywin exhaled tapping the table with two fingers. "Your daughter won't be in any danger. That I can promise."

There was a long silence behind him as she seemed to mull over whether or not she could trust a promise from him. Or perhaps she was wondering why he was so sure. In the silence, Tywin returned to his letter to Queen Margaery. The ink was dry now and he carefully folded it.

"Does Daenerys intend to pardon you for what you did during the Rebellion?" Catelyn asked. Her tone was such that she seemed to have already guessed the answer.

"No," Tywin said.

"And you are not going to fight that," she said.

Tywin sighed. "No."

"So that's why you're sure. You made a deal," Catelyn said. "Give yourself up for...for what? Your son's life, I expect. They don't call him Kingslayer for nothing."

"I bought my son's life, yes," Tywin said, sealing the letter carefully. "As well as his continued control over the west. Jaime and Arya will inherit Casterly Rock after I am gone and Lannisters will remain wardens of the west."

Catelyn did not reply for a long time and Tywin looked up from the table. She was giving him the strangest expression. "What? You were worried about peace. This was one of the only ways to secure it. And it should improve relations between the Lannisters and the Starks...considering you'll be dealing with your daughter from now on. This is nothing but advantageous for you."

"You haven't told Arya, have you?" Catelyn murmured.

It was the same question Tyrion had asked. Both of them seemed concerned about Arya's reaction, as if she had not endured much worse. "It's not relevant right now. There are more important matters at hand."

"So it's another secret," Catelyn Stark let out a single, humorless laugh. "I've been finding out so many secrets lately. It seems everyone has some truth that they want to keep for the 'right time'."

"Sometimes it's necessary," Tywin said.

"I'm sure it's easy to tell yourself that," Catelyn said, a bitter note to her voice. She was clearly upset about something else-some secret which Tywin did not know. "But why haven't you told Arya about this? Honestly."

"It's a distraction she doesn't need," Tywin said.

"Because it will hurt her," Catelyn said. "It will hurt her a great deal and you know it."

Hurt. There was no reason that Arya Stark should feel pain in regards to his death. She had been his hostage for years in all but name and he had used her wherever was convenient for him. She had saved his life once before, but it was only to protect her brother. She might protest his death, because that was the kind of person she was. But 'hurt' seemed a strong word. "I don't see why she should mourn for me."

"Neither do I. But she will," Catelyn said. "You must know that in the back of your mind. Why else would you keep this plan from her?"

Tywin was beginning to grow irritated again. Apparently, this was the day that particularly stubborn people saw fit to argue with him. This was exactly why he had kept these secrets. They were only proving his point by arguing with him at the end of the bloody world.

"I know...that you care for her," Catelyn said. It seemed as if she had to force the words out. "As much as someone like you can, at least. It took me a long time to come to terms with that. But you are blind if you cannot see that she cares for you."

Was he blind? Tywin had been blind about things before...especially his children. He never felt particularly blind around Arya though. He could always read when she was telling a lie. He could tell when she was afraid. He could tell when she wasn't sleeping or was just barely holding herself together. He understood the smallest shift in her expression. But it still didn't make sense that his death should hurt her.

"Once the Night King is defeated I will tell her," Tywin said. "She will see that this arrangement is the best option. She's not a fool."

Catelyn exhaled, looking back out the window, at last finished arguing the point. Thank the gods for that. Tywin had no wish to continue this line of conversation.

"I expect you to keep the arrangement a secret until then as well," Tywin said. "I'm sure you do not want your daughter to be distracted in battle. And the truth about what happened to Joffrey...that would be even more dangerous."

"I'll keep the secret. It's not exactly mine to tell is it?" Catelyn asked. "I've become a keeper of many secrets over the past few days."

Tywin could not help but wonder what those other secrets might be. But he knew if he pried it might just lead to another argument and he was tired of those.

A long silence lapsed between them and at last Catelyn Stark turned from the window, starting toward the door. But she stopped when she heard something-the sound of footsteps rushing up the hall. Tywin stood, anticipating a messenger

Moments later, Arya burst through the door, gasping for breath as if she had sprinted all the way up the stairs.

"They're here," she muttered. "Bran says... the dead are here."

The words echoed through the room like a stone dropped into a very deep well. Tywin glanced from Catelyn Stark to Arya. Then he released a breath. "All right. Is everyone in position?"

"In position or moving in that direction," Arya said.

"Good. Then we'll see what all of this preparation is worth," Tywin said. "Lady Stark, we should go to the tower."

"Right. Of course." Catelyn Stark let out a tremulous breath, crossing to her daughter and pulling her into a tight hug. "You'll... be on the wall, won't you?"

"Yes," Arya said. "Don't worry. The northern wall is well fortified. I'll be fine."

"I know you will be." Catelyn clasped her face in her hands. "Come back to me, sweet girl. Promise it."

Arya nodded once. "I promise." She stepped back from her mother and glanced up at Tywin. She opened her mouth, as if wanting to say something, but no words came out.

"Make sure the wall holds for as long as you can," Tywin said. "If reinforcements do come from the Twins, we need to give them time."

"I will," she said.

"And if the walls do fall, retreat to the main Hall. Don't wait too long or you'll be overwhelmed."

"I know." She looked up at him. "Do you...have any other orders?"

She was afraid. She would never admit it, of course, but he could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes. He exhaled, reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. "No. Just don't do anything reckless, and come back alive."

Arya nodded. "I will, my lord" She lingered for a moment longer, glancing from him to her mother. Then she hurried back down the steps, closing the door to the tower room behind her. Beside him, Lady Catelyn cupped a hand over her mouth and paced away from the door. She knew as well as he did that she might never see any of her children alive again after this night.

But the moment of weakness was brief. She let her hand drop from her mouth and her expression turned steely again. "All right. To the tower then."

Tywin nodded once. From the tower, they would watch the great battle of their lives begin...and end if they were lucky.

 _Now we see how long this Long Night lasts,_ Tywin thought. _And who lives to see the dawn._

* * *

Jaime was still buzzing with anger from his confrontation with the ever immovable Lord of Casterly Rock when the word came that the dead had arrived. It occurred to him that an argument made for a terrible last interaction with one's father. But then again it was typical of their complicated relationship. Their family never had been one for soft words or teary farewells.

He did find time to say farewell to Tyrion, of course, though there were no tears. His brother was on his way to the tower where the other commanders who could not fight would watch the battle. And Jaime was on the way to the western wall to command the Lannister troops. Between the two of them, Jaime was more at risk of death, but he feared for his little brother all the same.

"You _should_ fear for me," Tyrion said. "I'll be in the same space as father for gods' know how long. My only solace is that my very presence should irritate him the entire battle."

"Best of luck with that," Jaime looked down at him to see he had an axe stuck in his belt. "I see you have a weapon just in case."

"Well, I'm not a great warrior like you, but I have killed in a battle before," Tyrion said. "If Harrenhal falls, I'll go down chopping off wight legs."

"I hope I'll live long enough to see it," Jaime rested a hand on his shoulder. "Until later, little brother."

Tyrion rested a hand over his. "Until later."

Jaime continued on his way toward the western wall, ducking around other trembling soldiers scrambling to get to their places. Across the outer ward, he saw Arya rushing toward the northern wall. Their eyes met for a moment and she gave him a nod. Part of him wanted to cross to her in that moment. But he did not want to say goodbye to her. He did not want to even entertain the idea that she might die in the battle.

"Ser Jaime."

Jaime jumped as Bran Stark appeared at his elbow. He was being escorted to the Godswood by a small woman with curly brown, along with a rather large group of the Brotherhood.

"Bran." Jaime inclined his head. "I wish you good fortune in the battle."

"Thank you," Bran said. "But your sword will help me more than your wishes."

Jaime's brow furrowed. "What do you...?"

"I will need your help in the Godswood," Bran said. "When the second trench falls, come to me there with a few good men."

"You could find better protectors than me," Jaime said. "I'm not the knight I used to be when I had both hands."

"One hand will be enough," Bran said. "You did promise me, didn't you? That if I was ever in need of anything, no matter what it is, you would do your best to help me. To settle our debt."

Jaime swallowed hard. "Yes. I did."

"Good," Bran said. "Then I will see you when the trenches fall."

When. Not if. Bran was sure that their exterior defenses would not hold and he was clearly sure that he would need Jaime in the Godswood. For what, Jaime could not begin to guess. But he had not made that vow to Bran Stark lightly.

 _I wonder if he has seen me die there,_ Jaime thought. _Surrounded by trees carved with faces._

He supposed he would find out soon enough.

* * *

"Don't stay up here for long," Arya told Sansa as they stood together by the great hall. "For the start of the battle perhaps, but as soon as it gets bad, barricade yourself in the cellar."

"I will," Sansa said. "I wish I could convince mother to do the same."

"I heard her say she would be in the tower," Arya said.

"Yes," Sansa said. "With the other generals who can't fight. There are still risks to being there, of course. But I might join her if I wasn't carrying a child."

"Mother will be safe enough up there," Arya said. Lord Tywin would be in that tower as well. If the dead managed to climb over the wall, it would be easy enough to blockade the doors, though it would only be a temporary fix. "It's well defended. Plenty of siege weapons as well, in case the dragon appears. And he won't be targeting the generals. He'll be targeting Bran."

"Let's hope to the gods that the dragon queen arrives in time then," Sansa said.

Arya nodded once. Then she drew a dragon glass dagger from her belt. "Here. Take this, just in case."

"I've never killed anything before," Sansa murmured.

"Thank the gods you won't have to. These wights are already dead." Arya forced a smile. "I've seen you grab a knife with your bare hand. If a wight comes at you, I know you can handle yourself. Take it."

Sansa swallowed hard and accepted the dagger. "Stay safe, Arya."

"I'll see you after the battle," Arya promised.

Sansa pulled her a quick hug. Then they parted and Arya hurried toward the northern wall. On the way she passed Oberyn, who was ordering a group of soldiers toward the eastern wall. She passed Gendry, who was working to pass out as many weapons as possible, and she took a cluster of dragon glass arrows from him, giving him a small nod. As she climbed the steps to the northern wall, she passed Berric, who grasped her shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile. There was no need for words. The Brotherhood was with her and they would defend the living until their last breath.

At last, she took her place atop the battlements. Merwyn and Thomas stood on either side of her, grasping tight to their swords. When she turned to look at them, she could see their throats bob up and down when they swallowed. Both of them were veterans of many dangerous wars and had survived difficult odds. But they knew that this was their most difficult fight yet.

She waited for a long moment in the icy darkness, watching her breath cloud the air in front of her. The first horn blew. Then the second. Then the third.

And the darkness, the blue eyes began to appear.

* * *

 _ **A/N: The main battle is here. Get HYPE! Probably this main battle is going to be broken into the three chapters since its such a massive undertaking. Lots of excitement throughout hopefully. Hope you all enjoyed. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	97. Chapter 97: The Battle of Harrenhal

_**A/N: The battle begins with part one! These are, naturally, going to be some of the hardest chapters for me to write because I hate battles but hopefully it turns out okay. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 97: The Battle of Harrenhal**

When Arya was a child and the long summer was still at its peak, she used to venture into weirwood with her siblings to catch bugs of all sizes. It vexed Septa Mordane terribly, as well as their mother. But Arya's favorite bugs to catch were the glowing ones-moon bugs, her father called them, because their white light shone in the darkness. Sometimes, on the warmest nights, the forest would absolutely fill with them, and it would be like walking amongst the stars.

Arya was reminded of that little memory as she stared out into the darkness from the walls of Harrenhal. From this distance, the blue eyes could be mistaken for a swarm of moon bugs. But Arya knew better than that, and their thousands of eyes filled her with icy dread.

"How many are there?" Thomas muttered under his breath.

"I don't think I want to know," Merwyn replied.

"Too many," Berric said, hurrying to Arya's side. "And not just on this side. They're moving to surround us. The western wall and the eastern wall are facing just as many."

"It's the smart play," Arya said. "The Night King will be testing for gaps. Do you know about the southern wall?"

"None yet. But they're still moving into position," Berric said. "We're well defended all the way around."

Arya nodded once, resting a hand on the dagger stuck in her belt. Bran had given it to her some time ago and asked her to keep it close. But she did not see what help it would be against this many.

There was a 'whoosh' from above and Arya glanced to her right to see the first of the siege weapons firing from the Widow's Tower. Great, flaming projectiles soared high overhead and she tracked their path with her gaze until they crashed back to the ground. For just a moment, the shadows of the dead were illuminated, as if by a flash of lightning. And Arya felt a shiver go through her. There were so many. Most of them were once human, but Arya was sure she saw the shadow of a giant once. And the shadows of other inhuman creatures as well. They did not have enough ammunition for them all.

The dead did not move for a long moment. They stood and took the abuse of the flame and rock, still and unafraid. After all, why should the dead fear dying again? Below, in front of the northern gate, Arya could see the soldiers shifting nervously. Some of them were westerlanders. Others riverlanders. Some Dornish, others from the Reach. And each and every one had fear of death and the dead that brought it.

" _Hold_ ," someone said and the projectiles stopped. For a long moment, a deathly silence fell over the keep and all of the land around it. Then Arya watched the blue eyes flicker in the shadows. They were advancing, and not at a slow pace, either. A sprint. They were sprinting for the walls.

"Light the trench!" someone commanded to her right.

"Light the trench," she called out on instinct, echoing the command. And the archers lit their arrows and rushed to do their bidding, firing at the first trench. Arya waited and watched, hoping to see a blaze of flames.

But the trench would not light. No matter how many fiery arrows they loosed upon it, it would not light. The soldiers down below tried to set it ablaze with torches but those too seemed to go out before they could make a difference.

 _The trenches will mean nothing without fire,_ Arya thought. _The dead do not fear pointed bits of wood._

She drew in a shaky breath. This was not a good start at all, and if they could not hold the dead at bay for at least a little while, they could not hope to even last the night.

Then, something strange happened. Below, the gate opened and Arya looked over the edge to see the red woman walking out from the safety of the walls. She could tell it was her without seeing her face. The red of her clothing stood out against the snow. The soldiers stood to defend her as she crossed to first trench, calm as could be. It was as if the blue eyed dead were not racing toward the keep at top speed. She set her hand upon the trench.

"What is she doing?" Arya asked.

"Praying for a miracle," Berric replied.

A miracle was much needed right now and Arya watched with wide eyes as the dead drew closer and closer, practically running over each other in order to reach the living. But then, suddenly, something sparked. The trench burst into flame, starting from Melisandre's hands and rippling across the rest of the trench. Arya watched in amazement as the fire shot all the way around the keep, forming a protective barrier that stopped the dead in their tracks.

The approaching hoards stilled at the sight of the fire, skidding to a stop. At once they stopped snarling and snapping. Instead they calmly lined up just beyond the flames, as if they had forgotten their blood lust in an instant. Illuminated by the trench, they were truly horrifying. Some had most of their faces in tact with only stray wounds on their cheeks. For others, their flesh was torn away, revealing the bones of their jaw and the sockets of their eyes. Some were little more than skeletons, only barely keeping their feet. But they all had the same dead blue gazes that made Arya shiver.

Beyond the fire they shifted in silence. A few clacked their teeth or let out a guttural cry. But none tried to bypass the fire.

"Let's see how long that buys us time," Merwyn muttered.

"We have two trenches at least," Thomas said. "Plenty of defenses."

"Yes, but if they figure out how to get past one trench, the second won't be a problem," Arya said, shifting her grip on her bow. She was tempted to shoot the wights at the front just to chip away at their numbers, but it was not wise to waste arrows. Better to save them for the white walkers. Speaking of which...she hadn't seen a single white walker yet. If they were smart they would hide amongst their troops. Killing just one of them destroyed a great deal of soldiers. But Arya hoped that at least a few would present themselves soon. She longed to put an arrow between their eyes.

The stillness of the army of the dead bothered Arya more than anything, and if she wondered if they were still all the way around. She glanced to Thomas. "Circle the walls, Thomas. See if they are making any moves there and let me know."

Thomas nodded and set off at once on his mission leaving Arya to wait. A particularly chilling win swept over her and she pulled her cloak tighter around her. _I'm am the blood of Winterfell,_ she told herself. _I will not fall to cold._

The only one who did not seem bothered by the chill was Melisandre. She stood at the base of the wall, behind the second trench, watching her flames dance in the night. How calm she looked and how still. If the dead bothered her, she did not show it openly. The same could not be said for the soldiers in front of her. They stood between the inner trench and the walls, ready to hold off the dead if they did break past the first wall of flames. But if that happened, many might die before the trench was lit. Hopefully the archers would be able to aid them and give them a chance to retreat inside.

The time passed at a crawl and Arya could not begin to say how long they had been standing there before Thomas returned to her side with news. "They're still surrounding us on three sides, m'lady. Just staring and waiting."

"What the fuck are they waiting for?" Merwyn asked.

"I don't know, but Thomas is right. It feels like they're stalling," Arya said. She wondered, not for the first time, where the Night King might be. Was he hiding in the clouds above? If that was the case, it was smarter to attack now before the other dragons reached Harrenhal. So he must be somewhere else. But where?

A flash of movement caught her eye and she saw one of the wights move forward to the wall of flames. But instead of attempting to walk through, it simply flopped down on top of the trench, impaling itself on a wooden spike. Second wight followed it's example. Then a third. Then suddenly, many wights were moving forward, piling onto the trench. And as they sacrificed themselves, the fires began to dampen.

"Archers," Arya called out. "Shoot any wight that crosses that barrier. Light the second trench."

The archers obeyed, drawing back their bows. The first wight managed to clamber over its brethren to safety, only to receive an arrow to the face. But more and more followed after him, unworried by the prospect of death.

Lady Melisandre was already at the second trench placing her hand on the wood, murmuring the same prayer. A wight lunged for her and Merwyn put an arrow through its chest. A second made the same attempt and Arya managed to score a hit though its neck. Berric struck one down as well from a few paces to the right.

"I wish your Lord of Light would answer prayers a bit more _quickly,_ " Arya snapped.

"Don't rush miracles, my Lady," Berric said. "We're lucky to even have his fire."

"Maybe, but I still wouldn't mind a rush on _this_ one," Arya said. Some of the wights had managed to get past the second trench and their front lines were trying to beat them back. They were doing an excellent job, but soon they would be over whelmed.

Arya cursed and nocked another arrow, preparing to loose it again. But just then fire burst from the trench, racing along the wood and creating a solid wall of flame. This fire seemed to burn brighter and higher than the last, too high for the wights to easily smother with their bodies.

"There, you see?" Berric said. "All in his time."

Arya let out a breath of both relief and annoyance, shooting her arrow into the skull of one of the wights that had broken the lines. "Open the northern gate. Let the front lines retreat inside before they find a way past this trench too."

She heard another one of the commanders on the northern wall call for the same thing. At once, the gate opened and the soldiers filtered back through the opening, one line at a time. Melisandre remained outside as they did, holding her hand out, keeping the flames high. Then, just as the last of their soldiers entered the keep, she backed away from the trench and into the safety of the castle. The intensity of the flames did not fade even after the gate closed.

Still, Arya found it hard to celebrate. They still had not seen a single white walker nor had they seen the dragon. Somewhere in their ranks, there were giants. Perhaps other terrible creatures that could step straight over the flames. And she did not mean to tempt fate by letting down her guard.

"It stalls them at least," Thomas said.

"Yes," Arya murmured. A few more projectiles from the siege weapons were unleashed into the darkness and Arya watched the fiery orbs crush the dead beneath their weight. They only made dents in the large army. Small dents. It would not be enough.

"A lucky thing we didn't find her when we stormed Dragonstone," Thomas continued. "The Red Woman I mean. She was with Stannis then, wasn't she? We were told to look out for her."

"I remember," Merwyn said. "Thank the gods we missed her."

"Seems like a long time ago now," Thomas said. "I'd rather be back there than here."

"Or at the Twins," Merwyn said. "Or Winterfell. Or Casterly Rock. I like fighting the living better than the dead."

Arya caught sight of movement from beyond the flames, almost as if the wights were shifting to allow others through. She squinted, trying to see if there was anything special about this new group of dead men. They did not appear to be white walkers.

"We'll beat them yet," Thomas continued. "There's still a wall between us and it's a bloody difficult wall to climb. Let's see them-"

He did not get any further as suddenly an arrow struck him in the chest and sent him reeling back off the battlements. Arya's eyes widened. Seven hells they had _archers._

" _Take cover_ ," Arya cried out. She took her own advice, ducking behind the wall as arrows sailed over head. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the bolts rain down on the soldiers just past the wall. And amongst them she saw Thomas who had toppled from the wall and broken his neck in the fall. His last expression was one of fear.

Jon had said that he had not seen the dead use bows and arrows before, but apparently the Night King was saving them for exactly this occasion. Certainly they were not accurate shots, but enough arrows in the sky could make a dent in any army.

The soldiers on the ground rushed forward to collect the dead and drag them toward the bear pit. None of the dead could be left unburned, lest they rise and fight them. But still Arya's heart clenched when they took away Thomas. She glanced at Merwyn, crouched behind the wall just beside her, whose face was flecked with the blood of his friend. He looked right back at her, his gaze full of fear and fury.

"If the wights are mindless..." Berric muttered from Arya's other side. "A white walker must be controlling their shots."

He was right. A wight's instinct was to attack and kill. They must be commanded to do anything else. Hide, wait, draw an arrow and loose it on the living. Arya carefully pushed herself just high enough to peek over the wall. The dead were shifting again. And this time they shifted for something different.

A single, pale figure, clad in black armor was stepping to the front, a bow in hand. It was strung with an arrow made of ice and she was sure he had more in his quiver. She watched as he drew the bow carefully. But he did not fire it up at the walls-he fired it at the trench.

The bolt struck the fire, but instead of the flames melting it like it might normal ice...a wave of cold seem to burst from the arrow, smothering the fire at once. It was a ripple effect across the trench. Suddenly a huge section went dark completely.

"Seven hells," Arya muttered. She stood, firing her own arrow at the walker, but a group of wights surrounded him, forming an effective wall. Her bolt took one of the soldiers and not their master. The white walker seemed to smirk in the darkness, drawing another arrow. Arya was forced to duck again to avoid his attack.

"Archers," she called out. "Listen to me! There is a wight walker just past the second trench, surrounded by wights. Target him not the wights. Target _him_ on my signal." She watched the terrified archers nock their arrows and prepare. "Three. Two. _One_."

The archers rose and she rose with them and they let their dragon glass arrows fly. They struck the soldiers surrounding the white walker but he remained standing and sneering. Once again, he loosed an arrow at Arya. She ducked narrowly behind the wall but rose again in the same moment, shooting a bolt in his direction. This time she caught him in the head and he shattered.

The wight archers that stood with him shattered in the same moment, but it was not enough. Other dead men not tied to the white walker had already flooded across the gap in the trench and though they tried to light it again with flaming arrows they went out before they could take. They could not send Melisandre out the gate again. She would never make it.

Now they had to defend the walls.

* * *

The Godswood of Harrenhal was cursed, they said, just like the rest of the castle. Where most weirwood trees had faces carved to look stern and wise, the face of this weirwood tree was twisted. In the shadows, it rather looked like it was screaming, and it's red tears ran thick from its eyes. It was not a scream of fear, Bran decided, but one of pure hatred.

There were thirteen deep cuts carved into this tree, and maybe that was the source of it's hatred. They were placed there by Daemon Targaryen, one for each day that he waited for his nephew Aemond Targaryen to meet him in battle. On the thirteenth day, they fought on their dragons above the God's Eye, and Daemon slew his kin by leaping from the back of a dragon to drive his sword through his eye and out the back of his skull. Both men and both dragons fell into the lake below. And all four died.

This was an unhappy place and it had seen so much misery. The thirteen cuts were just some of the many scars on this wood and on this keep. It was here, that Aegon the Conqueror first showed the true power of his dragons when he burned Harren the Black alive. It was here that so many unlucky lords and ladies perished as they failed to hold the great castle. It was here that one of the greatest battles of the Dance of the Dragons was fought and it was here that the seeds of Robert's Rebellion were planted, when at a tourney, Prince Rhaegar crowned Lyanna Stark the queen of love and beauty.

This place had a way of shaping history...and this old tree had watched it all. As had Bran. He felt a sort of sympathy for its wretched face. It was a burden to see so much and be unable to do anything at all about it. Only grow and watch.

"The battle is starting," Meera murmured from beside him. She was watching the sky, tracking the fire of the siege weapons.

"Yes," Bran murmured. "And I must go."

He slipped from reality and into the head of his many ravens, taking in the sights around him. The second trench was about to fall, even despite the efforts of the Lady Melisandre. But she had delayed them at least. That was the most important thing she could do. Delay them. A few extra hours, minutes, or seconds could be the difference between life and death. The pyre in the bear pit was already lit and had accepted its first few victims of the long night. If Bran had wished he could have dipped into the lives of each and every one of those men who were set to burn. But he did not have the time.

To the north, Robb and his armies were advancing as quickly as they could, along with Daenerys on her dragon and Jon on his. Bran was keeping an eye on the green one, making sure that it did not try to rebel against its new rider. But it seemed that Rhaegal was beginning to accept its master. Daenerys Targaryen might not be happy about it, but Jon could always blame Bran for this and claim ignorance and innocence.

He needed Jon on a dragon. It was necessary.

But beyond that Bran had a more crucial task which was beginning to vex him. The Night King. He had been searching tirelessly for him. He had gone further north to see if the Night King might be lying and wait for his armies to do damage before he swooped in from above. He had gone south to see if the Night King might have made a play for King's Landing in the chaos. He had gone above the clouds to search for the undead dragon and it's new rider. But the Night King was carefully alluding him.

 _What is the smartest play,_ Bran thought. _Think of how he moves. Think of how he thinks. He will not hang back. He wants to strike a decisive blow. So where will he..._

Bran stopped as it dawned on him. A gap in his plan. He had assumed, as soon as the army of the dead set a quick pace south, that they would come to Harrenhal as quickly as possible with few detours. Leaving some soldiers behind at the Twins was predictable and a good way to split their armies. It did not require any detours.

But there was one place north of Harrenhal which they had not evacuated-one that would have been extremely difficult for the dead men to navigate on foot, and for that reason, Bran knew the army would not go there. But dragons had no such limits. They had proved as much at this very castle over three centuries ago when they showed that a stone keep was no protection against dragon fire.

A dragon could fly easily above mountains which men struggled to climb.

Bran dipped into the minds of ravens a bit further north and east, searching as rapidly as he could. His eyes flew through the hills and mountains of the Vale. Searching. Searching. Searching. Until he came upon a great host struggling through the narrow mountain pass. Some were soldiers and others were bakers. Some were nobles and others were peasants. But they all had blue eyes now, the mark of the freshly dead.

And there, just above the clouds, between the peaks of two mountains, Bran saw him. He sat on the back of a pale dragon with glowing blue eyes, clad all in black armor, a sword and javelin of ice strapped to his back. In the light of the moon, there was something eerily beautiful about the Night King and his undead steed, and the great beats of the dragon's wings echoed like Bran's heartbeat.

Slowly, the Night King turned his head to look into the eyes of the raven which Bran inhabited. And when he smiled, Bran swore he could taste death.

Bran snapped back into his own body, letting out a breath, reminding himself that he was not yet dead. He became aware of a new presence in front of him: Jaime Lannister. He had come, just as he asked him to. He wondered how long he had been waiting there.

"You're here," Bran said.

"The second trench has fallen," Jaime said. "So yes."

The words rattled Bran's other guards but he only nodded. "Thank you for coming. And now...will you send one of your men as a messenger to your father?"

"Yes of course," Jaime said. "What message do you wish to send him?"

"The Night King is almost here," Bran said. "And he's bringing reinforcements."

* * *

There were five great towers at Harrenhal, all built as monuments to the strength and arrogance of Harren the Black centuries ago. When Harren built them then, he did not know that they would be the death of him, nor did he likely expect their eventual names. The towers encircled the Flowstone yard which sat at the eastern part of the keep. There were three along the southern edge and two on the northern edge. The southernmost towers, the Tower of Dread, the Wailing Tower and the Tower of Ghosts, were once all connected by bridges, but the bridge to the Tower of Ghosts had crumbled long ago, and the bridge between the Tower of Dread and the Wailing Tower looked as if it meant to crumble at any second.

The Widow's tower and, the largest tower of all, King's Pyre, still had a sturdy bridge between them, at least. The King's Pyre had once been much taller but it's uppermost levels had been shorn away by dragon fire centuries ago. Harren the Black had roasted alive in that very tower...hence its name.

Though many of the towers were crumbling at the top, they were all useable in some form, and five towers was an ideal number for the defense of this castle. Four of the towers were outfitted with siege weapons, each focused in a different direction. The Widow's Tower defended the northern wall. The Tower of Ghosts defended the eastern wall. The wailing tower defended the south and the Tower of Dread defended the west. That left the King's Pyre tower for the commanders who would not fight the dead head on.

Tywin expected at least some of the towers to fall when the undead dragon made its appearance. But naturally, it would target the siege weapons rather than a small grouping of generals who were no threat. There were a few scorpions stationed in the King's Pyre, but they would not fire unless the situation grew desperate. Tywin did not mean to project his location or any other commanders' location like Harren the Black did.

Of course, if they were lucky, none of the towers would fall. One of the scorpion bolts would take down the dragon, or else, one of Daenerys Targaryen's beasts would do the job. But Tywin was not one to rely on luck.

He stood at one of the crumbling tower windows, looking off across the northern wall as the second trench caught fire and beat back the army of the dead. He knew, somehow, that it would not last long. The trenches were only meant to hold the dead back for a time so that they could wear down on their numbers with siege weapons. The failure of the trenches did not worry him. If the walls fell on the other hand...

Well, the rest of the battle would be a relatively short affair.

In the King's Pyre tower, many other commanders were crowded, especially all of those who would not fight on the front lines. All were willing to fight if it was required of them, but battles quickly fell apart when their top commanders risked their lives for glory. There were several Tyrell and Lannister bannermen, as well as some older Dornish commanders and a few Unsullied, though the latter two groups kept to themselves, knowing that there was still quite a bit of hostility toward them from some of the Westeros lords.

Catelyn Stark was, of course, among them as well. She kept watch at a window in the corner, sitting on the edge of a chair. If the battle frightened her, she did not show it. Her expression was cool and calm.

And then there was Tyrion. His son had been one of the last to come to the tower, a flask in one hand and an axe in the other. It would have been wiser for him to go south to King's Landing, especially if he wanted to live to advise the dragon queen when this was all over. But then, Tyrion had always been very stubborn.

"The second trench!" one of the commanders said. "Something just put out a chunk of the northern side."

"The western side too. The fire is failing."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. The dead had dampened the first fire with their falling bodies. They had not put it out suddenly. So what had?

Nearby him, Tyrion took a swig of something from a flask at his hip, looking nervous. Tywin gave him a look.

"Now isn't the time to drink."

"We're not all made of stone like you, father," Tyrion said. "Now is the perfect time to drink. Or did you not notice the size of our opponent?"

"I noticed," Tywin said. "That's why I'm keeping a clear head."

Tyrion sighed. "Jaime said you'd say something like that."

"And now he's defending the western wall without drinking, as he should."

Tyrion lifted his chin. "Would you like me to join him father? I'd be glad to offer my combat abilities. I'm quite fearsome in battle."

"When all else fails, you resort to jokes. As usual," Tywin said.

"Well, I have to make enough jokes for the both of us father, since you have no sense of humor," Tyrion said. "But it's actually not entirely untrue. Ask Lady Stark. She once saw me kill a man of the Hill tribes."

Catelyn looked up from her seat at the window. "I did. With a shield."

"And I killed more than one man at the Battle of the Blackwater," Tyrion said. "I'm not entirely useless in battle. I'm only up here because my queen values me for my mind more than my axe."

Tywin exhaled. "Use your mind by all means. And until you do, you might keep silent."

Tyrion shrugged and strolled away from Tywin, taking another pointed drink as he did. He wished to project an air of calm and good humor, but Tywin could see his hand shaking around his flask.

Soon after, a messenger burst into the tower. There had been a steady stream of them since the battle started, bringing important information which they could not discern from the tower. Tywin recognized this boy as one of Tyrion's companions though he could not even begin to remember his name. He bowed quickly.

"The wights have killed some of our defenders on the wall with arrows," the boy said. "They have archery capabilities that we did not expect. And it was the white walkers that put out the second trench with some sort of arrows of their own. There were three spotted, one on the northern, eastern and western sides. The ones to the north and west are dead. The eastern one disappeared into the crowd."

Damn. The wights having any capability with archers was bad news. Tywin knew they must be terrible shots, but an arrow could often accidentally hit its target. A wall of arrows could prove fatal to soldiers. "What happened when the white walkers were killed?"

"Several wights around them fell," the boy said. "It's impossible to tell how many, my lord. But enough to make a difference."

"Tell the commanders at the walls to keep targeting the white walkers then," Tywin said. They'll hide as long as they can, but they are our principal targets. And make sure all of the fallen are burned immediately. That includes the ones who are sure to die."

The boy nodded and hurried from the room with all haste.

"We should shift some of our forces from the southern wall," Randall Tarly spoke up. "It's the highest of the walls anyway, and there's no gate. If the dead try to enter the castle, they won't try there. That's why they haven't surrounded that wall."

"They know we wouldn't be able to make an escape from that direction," Kevan said. "There wouldn't be much point. Better to focus their forces on the other walls."

"No," Tyrion spoke up. "No...keep the same defenses at the southern wall."

"With what purpose?" Tarly asked. "There's no immediate threat to the southern wall."

"No immediate one, yes," Tyrion said. "But it does seem a bit suspicious doesn't it? The Night King has more than enough troops to surround the entirety of the keep. We've seen his numbers from the window. Why leave a whole wall open? Unless of course he hopes for us to shift our troops away to areas that are more in danger. It may make it easier for his wights to scale the wall."

"Scale the wall?" Tarly seemed incredulous. "Walls that high can't be scaled."

"Forgive me, Lord Tarly, but it's possible that they can," Tyrion said flatly. "You were not present for our first strategy meeting in King's Landing so you would not know. But Jon Snow, who has seen these creatures move more than any of us, suggested that the dead have no regards for their own lives and, if need be, could pile on top of each other in order to let one single soldier get to the top. We've already seen them fall on fire in order to allow others to cross the trenches."

"That may be true," another commander spoke up. Some other Tyrell bannerman who's name Tywin did not recall. "But if they can climb the walls, they could climb over at any point. We need to focus our defenses where they are attacking."

"But not at the expense of creating an opening," Tyrion said. "I'm almost sure that the dead sent some of their soldiers south to launch a surprise attack when we are most focused on defending the other walls. We'll be nearly overwhelmed and not paying attention and they could take us from behind. Once the dead enter the keep, our chances of survival drop by quite a bit."

Tywin studied his son. His claim did have validity. Everything Bran Stark had said about the Night King cast him as a clever opponent. It would be wise to draw the forces of the living away from one wall...especially if he had the means to cross it. In a normal war, there would be no question. No human army could climb the southern wall. But this was not a normal war and if they treated it as one, they might die.

"Lord Tyrion is right," Catelyn Stark spoke up from her place at the corner window. "We should keep the southern wall defended."

"No one asked for your opinion, Lady Stark," Randal Tarly said. "You should not even be here."

"You are welcome to force me to leave then," Catelyn turned to face him. "But a few days ago, Bran warned me not to leave and go south. I didn't understand it at the time. This is not the safest place to be. But if he peered into the future and saw the dead sweeping over the last of the refugees, his reasoning makes sense. There will be an attack from the south."

Tarly opened his mouth to protest but Tywin cut in.

"We'll keep the same defenses at the southern wall," Tywin said. "Our situation is not so desperate that we need shift our formation. And there is some validity to these suspicions. This is a defensive battle and we cannot be too eager to play into the Night king's hands."

That ended the discussion soundly, and the other generals returned to discussing ways to sure up the defenses of the walls. Tyrion seemed surprised at Tywin's words, though perhaps Tywin very rarely suggested that his thoughts had any value. In this case, at least, they did. It was fortunate that the wine had not dulled his thoughts too greatly.

The messengers continued as the eternal night went on. The walls were holding on every side. The dead had begun to pile on top of each other just as Tyrion had theorized, attempting to clamber over their defenses but the dragon glass spikes and the soldiers behind them were doing their job, keeping them down.

Only one more white walker had exposed themselves, and that white walker was felled on the western side, narrowly preventing a breach in the defenses. The other white walkers were well hidden and patient.

Still, Tywin could sense that the dead were not attacking in full force. They were merely testing the defenses, seeing if they could make an easy conquest. Or perhaps hoping that they would give and send more of their soldiers away from the southern side, if Tyrion's theory was correct. He could not shake an impending sense of dread that the worst was yet to come.

 _The dragon has not yet appeared,_ he thought. _And neither has the night king._

Then another messenger came with news-this time from Brandon Stark.

"Bran Stark has seen the Night King and the dragon," the messenger gasped out. "He's almost here. And he is not coming alone."

"Where is he coming from?" Tywin asked.

The messenger was pale as a sheet. "From the Vale."

Tywin stared at the messenger for a long time before he crossed back to the northern window where Catelyn Stark was still keeping watch. She was pale as a sheet and her fingers were clenched together so tightly that it seemed she might snap one off. Tywin only had to glance out the window to see why. The clouds had parted just enough to allow the moonlight through, and it illuminated thousands of dead approaching the keep from the north east. Tens of thousands. From the Vale.

Then came a distant thud, like thunder. Tywin thought it might be, for a moment, but then it came again, and again. Steady as a drum. Or the beat of wings.

At first, he saw only the tail slipping through the cloud bank, caught in the light of the moon. The rest of the creature followed soon afterward. The dragon was nearly as large as the black beast Daenerys Targaryen rode, and it's blue eyes shone bright in the dark. From this distance, Tywin could not make out it's rider, but he did not need to. He knew exactly sat atop the dragon's back.

The Night King had finally arrived, and he brought the seven hells with him.

* * *

 _ **A/N: The Night King has arrived! Next chapter, the middle section of the battle, will be one of the harder things for me to write cause I have a hell of a lot of perspectives to jump into so wish me luck! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	98. Chapter 98: Beneath the Bleeding Tree

_**A/N: And we're back with part two of the battle. This chapter nearly killed me because there was too much shit happening so I am frightfully sorry if it seems rushed at all. I tried to capture a sense of 'chaotic battle' and characters not totally knowing what's going on at every moment. Hopefully I got that. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 98: Beneath the Bleeding Tree**

Bran's message had shaken Catelyn to her very core. The Night King and his dragon had appeared at Harrenhal, bringing the doom of the living with them. And yet, she could barely process that. All she could think of, in that moment, was Lysa.

Catelyn knew her younger sister was dead even if she could not see her face amongst the soldiers. She must be gone. They had grown apart over the years, and their last interactions were anything but kind. But still...

 _But still she was my sister._

Her little sister who used to follow her around everywhere and fret over whether or not they would get in trouble for sneaking down to the river. Her little sister who used to dress in whatever colors Catelyn chose because she wanted to look alike. Gods above, whatever she had become, it was that young girl who Catelyn remembered.

And she was gone.

The undead dragon let out a screech, swooping upward and disappearing once again into the clouds, leaving its new recruits to begin to swarm the walls. The other lords, scattered to the windows, searching to see where the dragon would appear again. Catelyn did not move.

"Lady Catelyn?" Tyrion stood near her. "Are you all right?"

"My...sister," Catelyn said. "I think my sister must be dead...if what Bran says if true."

"Maybe not," Tyrion said. "I doubt...the Night King had time to cover all of the Vale."

"But he almost certainly went to the Eyrie," Catelyn said. "I have no time for false comforts, Lord Tyrion."

She forced herself to stand and go to one of the windows as well-the southern facing one. She watched the skies for the dragon, wishing that she felt as amazed and terrified as everyone else. But she felt...numb. This was all beginning to seem quite hopeless, especially since Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were nowhere in sight.

Through the window, she saw shadows moving toward the southern wall. Lord Tywin seemed to notice them as well. "Wights from the south. It seems we were wise to keep the wall guarded."

"It seems so," Catelyn murmured. A knot formed in her stomach. If the wights from the south were rushing the southern wall just as the dragon had arrived. Then that meant-

The blue fire struck like a bolt of lightning. One moment, the skies were dark and the next, the dragon dived into view, spraying the top of the southern wall of Harrenhal with blue fire. The blast destroyed the defenses at the top and crumbled the stone. If it was allowed to continue it's assault, Catelyn was sure that it would rip a hole through the stone to allow the wights inside. The walls of Harrenhal were thick, but even they could not stand against constant dragon fire.

But the dragon was not allowed to continue its assault uninterrupted. The siege weapons in the other towers turned on the creature, shooting scorpion bolts in its direction. The creature dove to the side to avoid them before fleeing back into the safety of the clouds. Below, Catelyn could hear the screams of dying men, and she tried not to think about how many had been killed in such a short time span.

 _At least the burned will not rise again,_ she thought. And at least her children were not on the southern wall. Someone's children were...but Catelyn did not have the capacity to care for any of them.

"We'll need a lucky shot to have any hope," Randal Tarly muttered. "Striking a dragon with a scorpion bolt is no easy task. We need a dragon to fight it."

"Reinforcements will come," Kevan Lannister said.

"Yes. They will come," Tarly said. "That's not the question. The question is: will the castle still be standing when they do?"

Catelyn heard the dragon cry out again, but this time it did not dive from the south. It dove from the east, knocking full force into the tower of ghost and ripping the scorpions from the stone. Then it turned and bathed the tower in blue fire. Stones crumbled and fell to the ground below, crushing some unfortunate soldiers running beneath.

The other lords ran to the eastern side of the tower to watch as the scorpions from the other towers rallied to try to hit the dragon. But the creature was simply too fast. Catelyn lingered at the back because she could not stand to look. She heard another tower crumble and fall and she felt it shake the earth. She wondered which it was. Beside her, Tyrion took another drink from his flask but cursed when he found it empty.

"Damn," he muttered. "Now of all times."

"You should have paced yourself," Catelyn observed. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears, as if she herself was not fully attached to her body.

"Yes, my lady," Tyrion forced a smile. "I suppose I should have."

Some of the commanders rushed for the stairs, hurrying down before anyone could stop them. If the dragon was attacking the towers, it might come for this one next. Or it might only take the towers that tried to kill it. Catelyn was not sure how much sense the creature had.

Tywin crossed away from the group back to his brother Kevan. "We should go lower. It's attacking the tops of the towers, not the base. We don't want to tempt fate by being too far up."

"Some have already fled with that in mind," Kevan said. "We'll lose our vantage point, but that seems to be the least of our concerns."

Catelyn was aware of the conversation but she was also watching out the window, searching for the dragon. It had disappeared for a long moment and she could not hear it. She took a step forward toward the window. Where could it-

Blue fire met her question and the dragon dipped from the clouds, smashing full force into the Widow's tower, sending huge chunks of stone spinning toward the King's Pyre.

One moment, Catelyn was looking out over a group of experienced commanders, watching the battle from the window. The next moment, the debris from the Widow's tower carved them all away. Those that were not killed by the rocks fell as the floor crumbled beneath them. The ground nearly gave way beneath Catelyn as well but a firm hand on her arm had jerked her back from the ledge. It took her a moment to register the hand as belonging to Tywin Lannister.

"Fuck," Tyrion cursed from behind her. " _Fuck_."

That did not begin to summarize the situation, but Catelyn did not know any words that could. So many people had just died in front of them and she had very nearly joined them. The breath left her all at once as she registered that fact. Then she stepped a few more feet away from the ledge, giving Tywin a single nod of thanks. He returned the wordless gesture, looking nearly as shaken as she was.

"We need to get lower, Tywin," Kevan said. "Now."

"Even if we go lower, the tower is going to collapse in on itself if the dragon attacks again," Tyrion said. "Either we fall to our deaths or we're crushed to death."

"Choose wisely then," Tywin said. "We go lower. The base of the towers are strong. It will stand.

"We might not have the chance," Catelyn murmured. She had been watching the dragon as they spoke. It had landed atop the ruins of the Widow's tower and was peering across the now crumbled bridge at the opened face of the King's Pyre. She could see a man sitting on its back, his skin pale white and his eyes glowing blue. This was the Night King everyone spoke of and he was staring right at them.

It was like a taunt of sorts. They had just tried to shoot the dragon from the sky but the dragon remained intact and their siege weapons were in pieces. _What do you mean to do now,_ the Night King seemed to ask. _How long will you keep fighting._

The undead dragon's jaw unhinged and it wobbled slightly on its perch. Catelyn stayed absolutely still watching it, knowing there was no way to dodge the blast. She dug her nails into her palms and steeled herself to die.

But just then, a shadow dove from the clouds, colliding with the wight dragon and toppling it from its perch. The black beast, Drogon, landed atop the ruins of the tower, letting out a great roar and spitting yellow fire into the air. Daenerys Targaryen had arrived, and she knew the other reinforcements must be close behind. The northmen, the men of the Riverlands. Catelyn had never thought she would feel so relieved to see a creature such as this.

The wight dragon swerved away from its new opponent, disappearing once again into the clouds. Catelyn let out a breath.

"Thank the gods," Tyrion muttered.

"You can thank them when we've won." Tywin opened the door to the stairwell. "Hurry."

No one offered any protest. Kevan and Tyrion ducked through the door and Catelyn hurried after then to make her way down the crumbling stair case. For a moment, it had seemed as if the battle was truly a lost cause. But the arrival of living dragons had given them just enough hope to keep going.

* * *

The situation at the walls was growing dangerous as the wights continued to pile on top of each other in hopes of reaching the top. At first, it seemed like an impossible task, but with so many disposable soldiers, several were beginning to make progress.

The defenders at the walls fired arrows down into the masses of wights, taking out the uppermost creatures. In addition, the smiths had hauled great pots of melted dragon glass to the top and poured them down on the forces below. It was an effective attack, killing hundreds of the enemy at once. Gendry was among the smiths on the wall and Arya kept casting him worried glances as he rained molten obsidian down on the dead. She did not want him to die here like Thomas. She did not want to lose any more familiar faces.

And yet it only barely made a dent. With more dead coming from the north, it felt as if every wight they killed had been replaced and the soldiers were growing more and more tired as time wore on.

The entire castle seemed to shake as the wight dragon crashed into one of the towers. Debris flew from the top scattering on the ground just behind the northern wall, crushing the soldiers in its path. Arya felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight. It wasn't the King's Pyre tower but...

 _But the dragon might attack there next._

Arya pushed the thought away, turning to take a swipe at a wight who had nearly made it over the wall. She cut him near in half with her sword and he fell. Her arm was beginning to feel heavy from fighting but she ignored the pain. There was no time for that. They had to hold out for as long as they could. They had to give...the reinforcements a chance.

Another great crash rattled the castle. Then another shortly after. Arya risked a look back to the sky, her heart hammering in her chest as she saw the wight dragon perched on the top of one of its ruined towers. It was facing the cracked remains of the King's Pyre tower which had been partially destroyed by flying debris. The sight nearly choked Arya.

 _Gods...please no._

Were the people inside were already dead. Tyrion. Tywin. Her _mother_. Were they all gone just like that? The very thought was poison to her. No. Surely they had escaped. They _had_ to have escaped.

Another screech echoed from overhead. But not from the wight. It was a living dragon that plunged from the clouds then, crashing into the wight dragon and knocking it from its perch. Arya let out a breath. Drogon. And that meant...

 _They're here. The reinforcements are here._

She whipped around to see the green dragon cutting a path of fire through the northern force of wights. Behind him, rode the cavalry-reinforcements from the twins, and they cut through the flank of the wights like a knife through butter. Arya could not see Robb but she desperately hoped that he was among them.

Still, she knew that the reinforcements would only have the upper hand for a short time. As soon as the wights recovered from the surprise attack, they would swarm them and they had nowhere to take cover.

"We have to let them inside the castle," Arya said.

"Not a chance, my lady," Berric said. "The moment we do, the dead will enter."

"Yes, but if we leave them out there, they'll all join the army of the dead," Arya said. "We need reinforcements in here at the walls. They came to help. We need to make them some kind of opening."

It was as if the green dragon heard her plea. It dropped from the sky, landing in front of the gate and blasted the closest wights with a line of fire, forcing them back. With a sweep of its tail it knocked down the wights on the wall, scattering them across the snow. He had effectively knocked the enemy away from the gate. And on his back...

Arya blinked. There was someone on his back, dressed all in black. Even from this high up, she recognized him. Jon. Jon was riding a _dragon_.

"Open the gate!" Jon cried out. "Open it now."

Arya looked up to see the reinforcements charging through a path created by Rhaegal, toward the doors. They were coming. "There's our opening, Ser Berric," she said. "Open the gate!"

The gate creaked open and the reinforcements swarmed into the keep. Arya drew another arrow to shoot any wights that made it through the gaps and the green dragon kept blasting fire on either side of the retreating cavalry, keeping back the undead. It was quite a sight to see Jon sitting atop a dragon and Arya hoped that Daenerys had not seen him as well. Hopefully fighting the Night King had kept her preoccupied.

The last of the reinforcements entered the northern gate and it closed with a heavy thud. Some wights had broken past Rhaegal's barrier and they were quickly dealt with by the soldiers inside.

Arya leaned down over the wall, calling down to her brother. "They're in! Get out of there!"

Arya didn't know if he could even hear her, but moments later, Rhaegal launched himself into the air, shaking off a few wights from his wings and flying away, spitting fire down on the wights as he went. Arya looked after the dragon in amazement and relief. At least Jon was okay for now. He was the only one she was sure was still alive.

"Thank the gods for dragons," Merwyn appeared at Arya's side, gasping for breath.

This time, even Arya was willing to thank the gods for such a miracle. "What's your report?"

"The defenses at the Western wall are starting to crack," Merwyn said, arriving at Arya's side. "They're keeping them back for now but..."

"Send some of the reinforcements there then," Arya said. "We could use some back up here as well." Her brow furrowed. "Wait. The western wall? Where's Jaime?"

"He left command with someone else," Merwyn said. "And went to the Godswood to defend Bran."

Arya's blood ran cold. If Jaime was in the godswood with Bran...well that was quickly going to become the Night King's target. Perhaps Bran had seen that and had asked for reinforcements there.

A dragon screeched overhead and Arya looked up to see the wight dragon swooping over the Godswood, pursued by Daenerys on Drogon. But as it passed, several shapes dropped off of its back and into the trees. Wights. And maybe white walkers. They could survive a fall like that.

Arya swallowed hard and turned to Merwyn. "I need you to take over command here."

"What?" Merwyn asked.

"The godswood is about to need more reinforcements. If Bran dies, this is all for nothing," Arya hurried toward Berric who was cutting down a few wights that had almost climbed high enough to grasp the edge of the wall. "Berric. I need you and the rest of the Brotherhood to come with me."

"And where are we going, my lady?" Berric asked.

Arya leaned over the wall, stabbing her sword into the skull of a wight. It toppled and took several of its brethren with it. "The godswood to defend Bran."

"You think his current protection isn't enough?" Berric asked.

"Soon, none of our protection will be enough," Arya said. "And when it crumbles, he needs as many people around him as possible."

"I suppose you're right," Berric said. "We're with you, Lady Arya."

She nodded once, turning her sword in hand. Merwyn was already giving orders for soldiers to fill in the gaps, directing a few Riverlands reinforcements up to the wall. And Arya hurried down the steps, the Brotherhood in toe, running for the Godswood.

It was possible that her mother and Tywin had been killed in the fall of King's Pyre tower. She did not yet know if Robb had survived to come south. Jon was on a dragon, and perhaps the safest of any of them at the moment. The only two people left that Arya was sure she could protect were Jaime and Bran.

And if she was going to die, she would rather it be with them.

* * *

Despite Tyrion's fears, the King's Pyre had not completely crumbled. The small group of survivors wound down the old stair case, stopping only occasionally to peer out the windows. It was hard to make any sense of the chaos from this angle, but Tywin could see that some of the reinforcements had made it inside the keep. Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were serving their purpose after all.

They came to a larger room in the tower, dusty and empty from disuse. For a moment, Tyrion paused, looking around. "Is this far down enough to be safe?"

"I don't think any place in this keep is safe," Catelyn Stark murmured. "But it seems out of the dragon's line of attack."

"There are vaults beneath this tower," Kevan said, heading for the next door. "They may be the safest place as more wights break through the defenses."

"It will only delay the inevitable if the castle falls," Tywin said.

"It may," Kevan looked back at him. "But if the living do lose, the Night king might miss a few surviving soldiers. So long as you're alive, there's a chance to mount another attack."

Tywin appreciated his brother's faith in him, but he knew that if their armies fell here, they had little chance to mount another attack. With what army would they fight? Nearly all of them would be destroyed.

Kevan started to open the door but paused, his brow furrowing, as if he was listening for something. Tywin heard it too. Something rattling behind the door-and the sound of a snarl.

"Kevan, get back," Tywin said, taking a step forward. But the door burst open before Kevan could obey, sending him stumbling away as the wights came through. There were four of them. No...five. Either way, they were desperate to kill.

Tywin drew his sword, cutting through one of the wights as it came at him. Another went for Catelyn Stark, shoving her up against a wall, but she drove her dagger through its eye before it could do any real damage. Kevan was fighting another wight up against the wall as well. They would have to get the door closed before any others found their way up. They had no way of knowing how many wights were already in the keep. Were these ones that had slipped past the defenses of the walls or were they their own dead soldiers, risen from the grave? Either of those options was preferable to the idea of the wall falling.

Something caught Tywin's ankle and he fell backward onto the ground-and found himself staring into the eyes of a wight. It's crooked jaw unhinged and let out a terrible cry, raising a rusted dagger.

It never got a chance to use it. A dragon glass axe stuck in its back and it crumbled, the blue light leaving it's gaze at once. Tyrion stood just behind it, wild eyed and panting for breath and Tywin stared right back, unable to hide his shock.

"Come on," Tyrion said, extending his hand. "That won't be the last of them."

Tywin let out a breath and accepted his son's hand, getting back to his feet.

From the stairwell, Tywin could hear more coming. He glanced at Tyrion and they both moved forward at the same moment toward the door. A wight burst through on its hands and knees letting out a chilling cry. Tyrion put an ax through its skull and it fell silent.

Cursing, Tyrion tore his axe from the head of the wight and kicked it down the stairs. As soon as the doorway was clear, Tywin slammed it shut, locking it tightly.

"We'll barricade it," Tywin said.

"Right," Tyrion said, grabbing a chair off in the corner and setting it against the door.

Tywin glanced to the side to see Catelyn Stark still trying to catch her breath. She looked unharmed, though shaken. "Lady Stark, were you hurt at all?"

"I'm fine," Catelyn said, returning her dragon glass dagger to the pouch on her belt. "I can help."

Tywin nodded once. It was best if Catelyn Stark survived the battle. He had no intention of explaining her death to her daughter.

"Kevan, bring whatever you can find," Tywin said. "Those crates in the back should do."

His brother did not respond immediately and when he did, his voice was hoarse. "I don't think...I can lift much..."

Tywin turned to see Kevan slightly slumped against the wall. His armor was stained with blood, as was the ground at his feet. The hilt of a rusted blade protruded from the gap under his arm and there was blood trailing down the corner of his mouth.

"Seven hells," Tyrion muttered from behind him. Tywin did not speak at all. He simply stared straight ahead at his brother as cruel reality slowly set in around him.

Kevan coughed and began to pitch to the side but Tywin hurried forward, catching him before he could topple and easing him to the ground. "Sit down. Don't move."

"It's not so bad," Kevan muttered. Sweat had broken out across his forehead and he was deathly pale. Tywin wondered if he was intentionally lying or if he simply had not registered the severity of his wound. At this angle, Tywin knew the blade must have pierced his lung. "I'll be... all right."

"Don't speak," Tywin said. "You need to stay still or you'll make it worse."

"I just need to rest for a moment," Kevan murmured. "Then I can help."

"I said don't speak, you fool." Tywin snapped. Anger was the only thing he had to shield him from the rising pain. He knew his brother was dying, slowly drowning in his own blood. This wasn't supposed to happen. Between the two of them...Tywin was the one who was supposed to die first.

"Sorry," Kevan murmured. "I'm...sorry. I went ahead. I've always followed you but I...went ahead. I shouldn't have..."

Tywin's jaw clenched and his grasp tightened on Kevan's arm, as if a tighter grip would keep his brother there. Kevan had been following him since they were children. Since Kevan could barely walk, he had stumbled after Tywin. And all of these years...all of these years he had never stopped. He had become like Tywin's shadow, and people were not meant to lose their shadows.

He wanted to reprimand Kevan for going ahead of him to the door. If he had stayed back, perhaps this wouldn't have happened. But his reprimands meant nothing and he did not have the energy. "You don't... need to follow right now. Just rest, Kevan."

Kevan nodded once. He coughed again and blood sprayed from his mouth. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, staring into space. Part of Tywin wanted to shake him to keep him from fading. As if that would help. As if any man's anger or grief could put a stop to death. Tywin had learned long ago that death could not be reasoned with.

"Our brothers...are here," Kevan whispered, reaching out a hand. "So is father and mother. They found their way back. Do you see them?"

Of course Tywin did not see them. But he had walked along the edge of death before, and he knew the kind of tricks the delirious mind played. He could not say as much though. He did not have any words. Instead, by way of answer, he grasped his brother's hand tight in his own.

Kevan tried to say something else, but his voice was too soft for Tywin to hear. Too soft and too hoarse. And before Tywin could ask him to speak again, he felt Kevan's hand go limp in his. His brother's eyes stared into some far off place, never to focus again.

Slowly, Tywin detached his hand and stood, taking a few steps back. Only then did he remember the other presences in the room. Catelyn Stark and Tyrion stood off to one wall, watching him carefully, like one might watch a lion with a wounded paw. He was angry that they had been there to see Kevan die, though there was nowhere else they could have gone.

"You should be barring the door," Tywin said coldly. "Unless you'd like the dead to kill us as well."

Neither of them replied. Not even Tyrion, who so often had some snide reply. Instead, he immediately turned to the task of finding more to brace the door. Lady Catelyn, however, was not so eager to resume the work. The expression on her face was one that Tywin hated-pity. Was there any worse look in this world? Lannisters had no need for pity.

"Did you not hear me?" Tywin asked flatly.

"I heard you," Catelyn murmured. "I was concerned about...if the Night King raises the dead inside the walls."

Tywin glanced down at Kevan's body and turned away just as quickly. He could not look at him. "I have a dragon glass blade. If it...becomes an issue, I will handle it."

It was more logical to pitch his body out the window and into the darkness. But Tywin could not bring himself to consider the possibility. It was foolish. He was already gone. It did not matter if his body was here or elsewhere. Kevan was gone.

Catelyn nodded once. "As you say, Lord Tywin." Then at last she turned away from him and set about helping Tyrion with the door. Away from her scrutiny, Tywin felt as if he could breathe again though not without effort. He was furious with himself for acting this way at all. This was war. He was prepared for death in war. He had seen so many battles after all. There were always casualties.

And yet...

Tywin exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

 _And yet._

* * *

Standing in the Godswood was maddening, because Jaime could not see what was happening on the walls of Harrenhal. Had they been overwhelmed? Had one of the gates fallen or had they held strong? Had the reinforcements come from the Twins? Had any of the dragons been slain? Bran did not seem keen to answer as his eyes had rolled back into his head again. So Jaime was left to wonder, staring into the darkness, waiting for the first enemies to appear.

Despite the distant sounds of battle, the woods was eerily quiet. Not one of Bran's guards, from the Brotherhood to the Lannister soldiers to Bran's own personal house guard made a sound. Neither did the Reed girl, crouched next to his wheel chair, turning her spear in her hand. She had a focused expression, like that of a hunter fixed on its prey...despite the fact that she was the prey in this scenario. That expression reminded him a bit of Arya.

Arya...it was maddening not knowing what was happening with her as well. Jaime knew well enough the dangers of battle. No matter how skilled a fighter, they could be killed at any moment, often on accident. In the chaos, only the lucky survived. But the idea of her falling on the walls was unbearable to him. Not after everything they had been through.

There was a great crash then which startled Jaime from his thoughts as it rattled the Godswood. He looked up to see the top of one of the towers disappearing from sight, ripped apart by the dragon. Jaime could not tell if it was King's Pyre or not, but he desperately hoped that it wasn't. He was not eager to lose the last of his family in one night.

 _They will be fine,_ he told himself. _Father, Tyrion, Uncle Kevan. Arya. All of them will be fine._

Several moments later, Bran's eyes snapped back into place and he looked around at the men who surrounded him. "Draw your swords. The fight is about to come to us."

"Has the wall fallen?" Meera asked.

"No. Not yet," Bran said. "Watch the sky."

Jaime did not understand what he meant at first, before the wight dragon swooped low over the Godswood. He ducked, cursing under his breath, preparing for the beast to rain blue fire down on top of them. But it did not stop. Drogon, the black dragon, was in pursuit.

 _At least the reinforcements came,_ Jaime thought. _Thank the gods for that._

However, as the wight dragon passed overhead, pieces seemed to fall away from the creature and plummet to the ground. No...not pieces: wights. They hit the ground all around the godswood with a dull thud, lying motionless for a long moment. Then, slowly, they rose, heedless of any broken bones.

"Guard Bran Stark," Meera cried out. "Don't let them near!"

The men in the godswood formed a wide ring around Bran and the weirwood tree-just in time to intercept the first of wights. They were vicious, desperate creatures with no regard for their own safety. They stabbed at blindly in hopes to hit their target and it was an effective strategy. None of them had any skill, but a wild man's knife could do as much damage as a skilled man's sword.

But through the darkness, Jaime could see that it was not just mindless wights that had plummeted into the garden. As their lines began to break and scatter, two white walkers strode forward, swords in hand, heading straight for Bran. Meera Reed was guarding Bran's flank, fending off quite a few wights on her own. It left Bran's front opened.

 _Seven hells,_ Jaime thought, stepping in their path and raising his sword. The white walkers paused for just a moment, glancing at each other. Then one began to circle to the left while the other continued its advance. First at a slow steady pace-then a sprint.

It moved inhumanly fast and Jaime only barely raised his sword in time to block its strike. The blades rang as they clashed and the white walker's lip curled in annoyance. It's hand flashed to its hip, drawing a dagger and Jaime threw himself to the side in time to avoid taking the blade to his heart. He whipped around as the white walker advanced on him and rose in the next second, driving his sword through its heart. It crumbled, along with several of the wights. But not all of them.

Jaime looked for the other white walker. As it went left, one of the brotherhood had engaged it to keep it back. But when the creature saw its brother shatter, it turned on Jaime, cutting the head clean off its opponent as it did. Jaime swallowed hard as it advanced, his grip tightening on his sword. The creature swung at him in a wide arc and Jaime was forced to back away to avoid the blow. The could feel the cold coming off the weapon, and it rattled him to his soul.

Jaime found himself up against the trunk of a tree with the white walker bearing down on him. He raised his sword to block and managed it narrowly, but the force of the blow rattled his jaw and made his arm feel numb. The white walker was stronger than him and he had the better ground.

 _I'm going to die,_ he thought. _I'm going to die here._

But even as he thought it, a flash of metal glinted over the white walker's shoulder. Moments later a sword cleaved through the creatures shoulder and it shattered in the wake of the blade.

And suddenly, there was Arya, standing over him, gripping Winter's Fury in both hands. She looked half a wolf in that moment with her face twisted into a snarl, and Jaime had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life.

Arya grabbed his wrist and hauled him to his feet. As she did, Jaime lunged past her, stabbing another approaching wight through the head. They stood back to back in front of Bran, twin swords in hand, cutting down every wight that came near.

At some point, the woods grew quiet again, and only the living remained standing. Meera Reed let out a relieved breath, gripping onto Bran's chair. Thoros of Myr laughed, turning his flaming sword in hand. And slowly, Jaime turned back to look at Arya, checking to make sure she was all right. She looked up at him in the same instance, her eyes wide.

"Are you...hurt?"

"No. Tired, but not hurt," Jaime said. "You?"

Arya nodded once. "The same." She shook her head. "Why...why did you come here? You were meant to be on the western wall."

"I was. But your brother requested that I come to defend him after the second trench fell," Jaime said. "I thought it best not to argue."

"I'm glad you didn't argue," Bran said. "Now you're all here...exactly where you're supposed to be."

Arya turned and went to her brother. "Bran, are you all right?"

"For now," Bran said. "The castle will be overwhelmed soon. We will have to lead some of the dead away."

"We'll never make it out of the castle," Arya said. "They've surrounded it on all sides now. The most open path is the south but there's no gate."

"No obvious gate anyway," Bran said. "Don't worry. They're almost here."

"Who?" Jaime asked. Gods above this boy spoke in riddles and in the midst of a war for their lives, it was not appreciated.

"The Children," Bran said.

Then something strange happened. The weirwood tree just behind Bran began to move. It's roots shifted in their soil, cracking the ground and creating a large gap in the earth. If Jaime was not mistaken, he could almost swear that the hateful face carved into the wood had twisted even further.

When the tree ceased to move again, there was a large hole in the earth, large enough for any man to fit through. And in that hole crouched a child. At least...Jaime thought it must be a child. It was too small to be anything else. But it's skin was a strange shade of green and it's hair like leaves. It had small, sharp features, except for its eyes. They were catlike, with slit pupils and they glowed green in the darkness.

"Brandon Stark," the child said. "It's time to go."

Bran nodded and turned to Jaime and Arya. "Ser Jaime...I will need you to carry me. My chair will not fit into the tunnel."

"The tunnel?" Jaime asked. "Where does the tunnel lead?"

"Outside of the keep," Bran said. "And to the shores of the God's Eye."

"And why are we going there?" Arya asked. "There's no cover out there. The dead will be on us in a minute."

"They won't," Meera said, turning her spear in hand. "Because we're not going to wait on the shores. We're going to cross the waters."

"That's right," Bran said. "It's time we saw the Isle of Faces."

* * *

 _ **A/N: On this weeks episode of "Kallypso forces Tywin to feel emotions and punishment for his terrible actions of the past" I killed Kevan and that was sad and hard to write. But also there was lots of other stuff. Arya and Jaime fighting back to back. Forest children magic. Dragons. And now we're going to the Isle of Faces! Don't worry, if you're a show watcher who has no idea what it is or its significance, I'll give some context next time.**_

 _ **Next chapter will be the finale of the battle and yep, there will be some death so strap in.**_ _ **Hope you enjoyed! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	99. Chapter 99: The Isle of Faces

_**A/N: And here we come to the final battle chapter. Though...be warned...it ends in a slight cliffhanger. Without further ado...enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 99: The Isle of Faces**

Sansa knew the battle was beginning to turn. In fact, it had begun to turn a long time ago, but she had stayed above ground anyway out of fear for her family. It was better than sitting alone in a cellar and not knowing. But then again, there was uncertainty above ground as well. She could not see Arya on the northern wall. She only knew that the wall hadn't fallen and that was a small hope. She could not see her mother in the tower, so when part of it crumbled she had no idea if she had fallen with it. She could not see Bran in the Godswood either.

But she _did_ see Robb.

When the reinforcements from the Twins rushed through the gates she worried for a moment that they might be wights. But when she saw Robb at the front, she knew they were not. One side of his face was covered in blood and he was barely staying on his horse as she rushed forward to meet him.

"Robb, are you all right?"

"Sansa...you should be...south," Robb muttered as he slid from his horse. He almost fell but she kept him standing. He was pale from blood loss and exhaustion. Up close, she could now see that his eye had been gashed through.

"Bran changed the plan. He told mother and me to stay," Sansa said.

"I see. Is mother all right?" Robb asked.

 _I have no idea,_ Sansa thought, but she smiled and nodded once. "Yes, she's all right for now."

"And the defenses?" Robb asked.

"All of the walls are holding. The towers are in ruins because of the dragon. But now that Daenerys is here, we have a better chance," Sansa said. "What about Jon? Where is he?"

"I don't know," Robb said. "I think...I think he might be dead, Sansa. He put me on a horse and told me to go on ahead." He swallowed hard. "I didn't see it but..."

"If you didn't see it, there's a chance." Sansa cupped his face in his hands. "We need to see to your eye. Let your bannermen take control now. You're barely standing, Robb."

"There wasn't time to see to it before this," Robb muttered.

"I know. Thank you for coming as quickly as possible." She took his arm and helped him toward the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, where the wounded were being held.

The hall was crowded, but not as crowded as it might be. The maesters had not taken anyone who was doomed for death. Those unfortunate soldiers were given a quick end and taken straight to the bear pit to be burned. It was too much of a risk to give the dead more soldiers than they already had.

But those who had only lost limbs or taken minor wounds were brought here to the maesters who could do something to help them. Most could no longer fight but at least they could be prevented from joining the army of the dead.

Sansa lowered Robb into a seat near one of the great hearths, calling out to the nearest Maester to see to him. It was the one thing she felt she could do-get her brother help. Once the maester had noticed them, Robb rested a hand on her arm.

"I'll be fine. You go and find somewhere safe," Robb said. "Somewhere below ground or behind a sturdy door. Maybe both. If anyone can survive this battle, it should be you."

Sansa nodded once, gripping his hand. "You must survive as well. Stay safe, please."

Robb nodded. "As well as I can."

Sansa left him then in the capable hands of the maesters and hurried from the great hall. She remembered the kitchens were in the building just behind the hall and the cellars were beneath. It would be a good enough place to hide until the storm passed. But as she strode through the courtyard she heard a snarl to her right.

Slowly, she turned to see something twisting in the shadows-some blue eyed thing with a broken jaw and flesh falling from its bones. It saw her from across the way and it seemed to rattle as it stood.

For a moment, they stood absolutely still and stared at each other. Sansa gripped the dagger in her belt. Then it lunged, skittering toward her at a surprising speed, malice aglow in its eyes.

Sansa let out a cry of fear and stabbed out blindly with the dragon glass dagger Arya had given her. The tip sank into the wights eye and it stilled. She jerked the blade from his eye socket and watched it fall, her whole body trembling.

 _I've never killed anything before...but it was already dead._

More snarls met her ears and she took a few steps back as three more wights stumbled around the corner. She could not take that many with a single dagger. Instead she turned and ran in the other direction, past some of the crumpled remains of the broken towers. Another wight popped over the rubble its jaw unhinging and Sansa screamed and stumbled back. Her foot caught on a chunk of stone, cutting a gash in her ankle and she toppled back to the ground. The other wights were gaining on her and this new creature was clambering over the stone, crawling toward her at an alarming speed. Sansa closed her eyes.

The wights never reached her. She heard them cry out and the 'snick' of a sword cutting through flesh and bone. Then, silence.

"Little bird," a familiar voice rasped.

Sansa looked up to see the Hound standing over her, dragon glass sword in hand. "Ser Clegane."

"I'm no ser." He reached out to her. "Get up. They're coming over the walls now. You need to find somewhere safe."

"The cellars," Sansa gasped out, taking his hand. He pulled her swiftly to her feet. "I was headed for the cellars."

"Cellars it is then." The Hound cut down another wight as it ran at them with a flick of his wrist. He guided her swiftly between the ruins of one of the towers and around the back of the great hall. Any wight that found them, he ended before they could even think about attacking, until they reached the kitchens. Sansa looked up to see a swarm of wights tumbling over the northern wall like a waterfall. They hit the ground and rolled over, their blue eyes glowing with malice in the light.

 _Arya...is Arya..._

"Inside." The Hound opened the door and they both ducked into the kitchens. He locked the door behind him just as it shuddered with the weight of wights slamming themselves against it. Sansa hurried to push a table up against the door and he helped her.

"Will it hold them?" she asked.

"Not for long," the Hound said. "Come on."

She followed him back through the great kitchens, passed a series of large stone ovens. At the back, they found the cellar doors which he heaved open and ushered her inside. He followed a moment later, closing and latching the door behind them.

For a moment, they were in utter darkness, until the Hound struck a match and lit a torch on the wall. The cellars were expansive but damp. Not much at all was stored here anymore, and what had been left was old and rotting. But still, it was preferable to the madness outside.

"I'm not sure how long we'll last in here," the Hound said, venturing a bit deeper into the cellar and lighting a few more torches on the wall. "It may just be putting off the inevitable. If the dead keep coming over the walls...I don't see how we can win this."

"Bran has a plan," Sansa said. "I'm sure he does. He will find a way."

"It's nice for you to have faith in your brother," the Hound said dismissively, placing his torch in a holder. "But he can't use his legs. If it comes down to a fight between him in the Night King, he won't win."

"Then I suppose we'll all die," Sansa said coolly. "And that there's no point at all. Perhaps you should open up the cellar door and make it quicker for us."

The Hound gave her a look. "You have so much faith in brother, little bird?"

"I have faith in all of my family," Sansa said. "Not just Bran. Arya, Robb, my mother. Jon if he's still alive. And I don't have time for your doubts or cynical thoughts. They don't exactly help our situation."

"Aye. They don't help." The Hound sighed. "You've changed since I last saw you, little bird."

"Last you saw me, I was a frightened child held captive by the Lannisters," Sansa said. "Of course I've changed. Birds who are free are very different from ones that live in cages."

"I'm glad you got free," the Hound said. "I offered to take you with me, didn't I? At the Battle of Blackwater."

"You offered," Sansa remembered. "I did think about accepting...but in the end I was sure we would be caught again and I would suffer the consequences." She shrugged. "It didn't matter. They let me go home shortly after that and put Arya in my place."

"Ah yes. The little one. She's changed too," the Hound said. "Made a lion out of her, haven't they?"

"Arya is a Stark first," Sansa said. "She'll always be a wolf."

"Oh, she's a wolf all right. But I served the Lannisters for a long time. I know what they're like." He shrugged. "She's growing into that name they've given her."

Sansa couldn't deny it. Her sister was still her sister and always would be. But sometimes the way she carried herself and the way she spoke...it was very much like a Lannister.

"Ladies play the part when they're married I suppose," the Hound said. "You married a rose. Fitting for you, isn't it?"

"A preferred marrying a rose to a stag," Sansa said.

"The stag they betrothed you to was a cunt," the Hound said. "I bet you'd have married anyone or anything to escape him."

Sansa's mouth twitched. "It's possible."

The cellar door above them rattled and Sansa jumped, stumbling back a few steps. Voices came to them from above. "Let us in!" they cried out. "Please, let us in! They're coming!"

"Idiots," the Hound muttered under his breath, backing away from the door and pulling Sansa with him. Part of her wanted to go and help them but if they did, she knew they would be swamped. So instead she stood there, listening to their panicked cries turned to ones of pain. Then...the cries died all together.

For a long moment, there was silence in the cellar and the kitchens above. Then the pounding on the cellar door began anew. Pounding and scratching and clawing and shrieking that chilled Sansa to the bone.

The Hound drew his sword again and faced the steps. "All right then," he muttered. "We make our stand here."

Sansa pulled her dragon glass knife from her belt and stood behind him. He glanced back at her and the dagger, a glint of amusement in his eye.

"You call me bird but I am a wolf as much as my siblings," Sansa said flatly. "I won't die without a fight...even if it's not a good one."

"Aye," the Hound said. "Guess you won't."

The cellar door rattled again and Sansa steeled herself. To stand. To fight. To die. Somewhere out there her siblings were doing the same thing.

For them and for the child growing inside her...she would fight.

* * *

The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever. It was just tall enough that Arya could walk through without crouching but Jaime had to keep himself bent as he carried Bran down the winding path. More than once they almost tripped over particularly large roots, and it was hard to breathe the damp air. But they kept pressing on, even as the walls seemed to close in around them. They followed the Children and prayed that, at the other end, they would find salvation.

Then, at last, Arya felt a blast of cold wind in the tunnel and breathed in the fresh air. A pool of moonlight streamed through a hole in the ground, marking their escape. One of the Children clambered out of the hole to look around then gestured for them to follow quickly.

Jaime carefully lifted Bran up onto the surface and climbed up after him. He turned and offered a hand to Arya, pulling her back to the surface as well.

Arya looked around, trying to get her bearings and figure out where they were. They were outside of the keep on the southern side, far away from the wall. There were no wights nearby. They were all crowded at the wall, trying to clamber inside. Arya was sure it was only a matter of time before they were noticed. The sounds of battle were distant and muffled and the dark towers of Harrenhal were barely illuminated in the light of the fire. As long as the fires persisted, she supposed, there was still hope, though not much.

There was a roar and a blast of fire and Arya looked up to see two dragons diving from the clouds. The white and the black one. The living dragon was in pursuit of the dead one, but as it tried to close its claws on its back, the dead dragon flipped itself and blasted blue fire in retaliation. Drogon narrowly swerved to the side to protect his rider. Arya watched the clash in amazement, remembering all of the times she had read about dragon fights in her books. And all those stories did not compare to the reality.

 _Where dragons danced men died._

Centuries ago, Daemon and Aemond Targaryen fought in this same place. Now the living and the dead echoed their battle. The dragons snapped their jaws and shot hot flame at each other while their riders struggled to stay on. Then, Drogon managed to get on top of the white dragon, crunching his jaws down on its neck. His claws ripped at the dragon's wing, tearing gashes in the membrane and in its joint. And Arya saw its rider fall, pitching into the darkness.

"She knocked him lose!" Arya stood. "I saw him fall. The Night king fell off his dragon."

"It will not kill him," Bran said. "But it is good that they are separated. We need to keep moving."

Arya nodded once, turning to look the other way. They were only a few yards away from the God's Eye. The great lake was undisturbed by the battle and its waters had not frozen beneath winters breath. Some moonlight had found its way through the clouds and it its line shone along the dark waters.

It was only because of that moonlight that Arya saw him. A lone man sitting in a boat on the shores, a long wooden staff in hand.

"You made it," the man rasped. "I was beginning to worry."

"Lord Reed?" Arya's eyes widened. "What are you...doing here?"

"Bran told me to wait here," Howland said. "So I did. Now come. Quickly. We must cross."

None of them had time to question him. Jaime scooped up Bran again and brought him to the boat. Arya followed quickly behind, clambering in beside her brother. The Children, the two that had come to guide them, hopped in as well. Meera Reed was the last to board the boat after quickly scanning the horizon to be sure they had not been spotted. Then Howland pushed off of the shore and began to take them across the waters.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Jaime said. "But no one has...been to the Isle of Faces in centuries. And not because of a lack of curiosity. No one _can_ reach it. The winds and water turn them back."

"They do," Howland said. "Unless they don't. The Isle of Faces closed itself off during the invasion of the Andals...but it has allowed a few visitors in the past several centuries." He glanced back over his shoulder. "And I am one of those visitors."

"You are?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Howland said. "The Children showed me things when I visited the island years ago, just before the Tourney at Harrenhal. It made clear exactly what I had to do. Protecting your father, Lord Stark, was one of them. Because the Long Night was coming and we did not have a chance of surviving it without his children. I had dreams years after I left the island that gave me glimpses of the future, and I have done my best to honor them."

"You've done well," Bran murmured. "Everyone in this boat has played their part. Even Ser Jaime."

"Even me," Jaime murmured. "My part in this story doesn't seem as honorable as the rest of you."

"Time is not honorable or dishonorable. It just is," Bran said.

"What makes this island so...significant?" Arya asked. "Why does it seem like it can pick and choose who visits its shores?"

"Because it can. The trees there have a mind of their own," Howland said. "Years ago, this is the place where the Children and the First Men made a pact to fight alongside each other against the common enemy."

"And it is the place where he was created," Bran said.

"He?" Jaime asked.

Bran studied his hands. "The Night King."

A chill went through Arya. She had thought, perhaps, that the Night King had sprung from some mountain in the Land of Always Winter. She had not thought he was...created, especially not this far south. "Who created him?"

"We did," one of the Children whispered from her place on the boat. "The First Men were beginning to overwhelm us. They cut down our weirwoods and we were losing power. So we decided to turn them against each other...turn their dead to soldiers." She walked her spindly fingers along the edge of the boat. "We lost control of the king. He was full of so much malice and hatred. Malice from both the first men and the Children combined. A spiteful creature who longed for all of the world to join him in death. He brought the Long Night and nearly killed us all. It was our greatest mistake."

"The Night King hates this island," Bran said. "It is a memory of where he came from. A memory of weakness."

"So you think you will be safe here," Jaime said.

"No," Bran said. "He will come for me in force...and that is just as well. The only way for us to beat him is for him to act impulsively. That has been the object of this strategy all along." He looked up at the sky. "I'm making a challenge. If he does not take it...everyone in Harrenhal will die."

"And he if he does take it..." Jaime murmured. "Then I suppose just we will die."

"Maybe," Bran murmured, which was not the word one wanted to hear from a boy who could see the future.

"All right," Arya let out a breath. "Seems a fair trade. Even if all of us die...we just need one opening."

"They've noticed us," Meera said softly.

Arya turned to look. They were far away from the shore now, and Harrenhal was barely visible in the darkness. But the eyes...Arya could see those clearly. They had lined up along the banks. Hundreds and hundreds of wights staring after them. The temperatures dropped and Arya heard a distant sound, like a deep crack.

"What is that?" Jaime asked, gripping the side of the boat.

Bran sighed, peering out into sea of blue eyes. "The God's Eye. It's beginning to freeze."

* * *

From the lower levels of the King's Pyre tower there were only a few narrow windows that looked out at the Flowstone yard, and it was impossible to tell how the battle was going from there. Catelyn knew they were now blind and simply waiting for the outcome of the fight. Either they would live...or the dead would find them and they would perish.

Tywin spent his time standing at the window none the less-the one at the top of the steps so that he was almost out of sight. And Catelyn and Tyrion sat on a stack of crates next to the door, waiting to know their fates.

"I'm not sure if I like this better or worse than seeing the battle," Tyrion said. "I know death is coming. But in this dark room, if I try really hard...I can pretend we are winning."

"I admire your imagination," Catelyn said. "And your optimism."

"Oh, I'm a cynic through and through Lady Stark," Tyrion said. "Any optimism is just my way to cope without alcohol." He raised his empty flask. "You're right. I should have paced myself."

"I wish you had," Catelyn said. "I might welcome some liquid courage myself."

"You never struck me as the type to drink more than wine," Tyrion said.

"I'm not," Catelyn said. "Never liked the taste of rum or anything stronger. But my uncle always said you don't drink it for the taste."

"Ah yes, your uncle," Tyrion said. "If the reinforcements are here, I'm sure the Black Fish is bravely defending us."

"Or dying defending us," Catelyn said. "They could all be dead now, just like my sister. My brother, my uncle and all of my children. I could the last one alive and I wouldn't know it."

"That's true," Tyrion said. "The last Stark could be in this room along with the last Lannisters."

"Not the last Stark," Catelyn said. "Robb's children are safe in the south at least."

"So it's only the Lannisters that are doomed. I suppose we deserve that." Tyrion's mouth twitched. "You tried to have me executed some time ago, Lady Stark. Perhaps it will please you to finally see the deed done."

"No," Catelyn said. "I'm afraid I don't take much pleasure in death...even of Lannisters."

"Then we may be friends yet," Tyrion said. "I believe we are family by law now Lady Stark. It's a strange thing."

"Very strange," Catelyn agreed with a small smile.

Tywin came down the stairs again, and Tyrion paced away from her and up the stairs to take his own turn looking out the window. Tywin glanced for the briefest moment at Kevan before looking away. His expression was one of anger and grief all at once, though the former nearly covered the latter. Perhaps he knew it was smarter to get rid of the body rather than wait for it to rise and he was irritated with himself for not being able to do it.

He noticed her watching him and his expression hardened like a mask. "What?"

"Nothing," Catelyn said.

"If you have something to say, then say it," Tywin said. "You usually don't need any encouragement."

Catelyn shrugged. "I was only thinking that I understand...why you don't want to get rid of the body."

"He may not even fit through the window," Tywin said. "It will be easier to deal with the problem here rather than try to-"

"You don't have to justify it. Truly," she said. "I'm the eldest in my family too."

He had nothing to say to that. But she did know the feeling that came from being the eldest sibling. You were responsible for the younger ones, almost like a second parent. When something happened to them, it felt like a failure.

 _I failed Lysa,_ she thought. _I should have tried harder to coax her from the Vale._

"Your sister," Tywin said at last, as if he had only just now remembered that Catelyn had siblings. "Lysa Arryn. I don't suppose she fled the Eyrie when asked."

"No. No she's dead. I'm sure she is," Catelyn said. "I've been sure since I heard Bran's message."

Tywin nodded once. Some of his anger faded to exhaustion. Perhaps knowing that he was not the only one in the room with weakness disarmed him...though not by much.

Something rustled in the room and when Catelyn turned she saw Kevan's body shifting, slowly pushing itself to its feet. His once green eyes glowed bright blue. From the steps, Tyrion let out a curse and Tywin rested a hand on his sword. But he hesitated there. Even though his brother was dead and this wight was only a cruel imitation, the man hesitated. Of course he did. As cold and emotionless as he pretended to be...he was a human being like the rest of them.

Where he hesitated, Catelyn did not. She drew her dagger and strode forward, driving the blade through throat of the wight before it could grasp Kevan sword. As quickly as it had risen, it fell again, crumbling into a heap on the floor.

Catelyn returned her dagger to her belt, giving Tywin a single nod. Then she walked up the steps to take her turn at the window.

However much she disliked Tywin Lannister and however much hardship he deserved for his sins...it was too terrible for a man to have to kill his own brother-even just the memory of him. It was a paid debt, in her mind, for when he had pulled her back from the crumbled ledge of the tower hours ago. Now they were even again.

 _As if paid debts matter anymore,_ she thought as she peered out into the darkness. But then again, at the end of the world, people did love to cling onto their principals.

It was something familiar in a world that had ceased to make sense.

* * *

They had almost reached the Isle of Faces when the water froze solid around their boat. They had to clamber out and make their way carefully along the ice until they reached the shore. Arya did not even have to look over her shoulder to know the wights were also shuffling across the icy expanse in close pursuit. At least, they had drawn off a good deal of the undead army from Harrenhal, though she wasn't sure if it was enough to make a difference.

The Isle was overgrown with great weirwood trees, more than Arya had ever seen in her life. And every tree had a face. It gave one the sensation of being watched. Or surrounded. Amidst the trees there were smaller, pinched faces with glowing green eyes. The Children. All of this time, people thought they were extinct and they had been hiding on this island, watching time pass and waiting for the Long Night to return.

"This way," one of the Children who had escorted them across the water motioned for them to follow. "Step where I step. Don't stray from the path."

They obeyed without question, making their way through the many faced trees and up the side of a large hill. The forest was aglow with moonlight, enough so that Arya took clearly see where she stepped. Whatever magic kept the clouds thick and the night dark over Harrenhal had no effect in this place.

They reached the top of the hill where they found not a great tree but a large, twisted stump, stained with blood. Once it must have been the greatest tree of them all, but it was hacked down long ago.

"This was the sight of the pact," Bran murmured. "Set me down here."

Jaime nodded, carefully lowering Bran onto the stump. It was almost shaped like a seat and Bran was able to rest his back against the ancient wood without any trouble.

Once Bran was seated, Arya looked out across the water. The wights were advancing in mass now and from the hill, they looked like a swarm of insects. They would overwhelm them in a moment with these numbers. They had only four human defenders and a handful of Children hiding in the trees. That was not nearly enough to fight the dead.

Jaime let out a long breath. "I suppose it's fitting that I die here, isn't it? Protecting Brandon Stark."

Bran's mouth twitched into a small smile. "You're not dead yet, Ser Jaime."

As if on cue, there was a great roar and a dragon descended from the sky. The green one. Jon's dragon. It unleashed fire upon the lake, melting it like a knife cutting through butter. And when the ice broke, thousands of wights spilled into the water and sank like stones into the depths of the lake. They could not swim. It was their one weakness. Arya let out a laugh at the sight. Bran had hoped to tempt the Night King into an impulsive move and it was working. The creature had just sent a huge chunk of his army into the water.

"Some made it across," Bran said. "We will still have to fight."

"How many?" Jaime asked.

"Enough to make this difficult," Bran said.

"We are not defenseless here," one of the Children said. "We have the high ground."

Yes, they had the high ground. But if they lost that high ground, their odds grew much slimmer. Arya swallowed hard, crossing to Bran, unclipping the valyrian steel dagger from her belt. "Take this. I have a sword but you need something too. Just in case one of them slips past us."

Bran considered the dagger for a long moment, a strange expression on his face. Then he nodded, accepting the blade. "I'll keep it close."

The first of the wights appeared at the bottom of the hill, their blue eyes glowing with hunger. They did not hesitate to scramble upwards-and that was their downfall. As they stepped in the wrong place, there was a great explosion of pale green fire that blew them to pieces and sent them tumbling back down the hill. Arya had never seen anything like it, but one of the Children let out a hiss of satisfaction, turning a tiny, dragon glass dagger in its hand.

More wights began a mad dash up the hill, only to be met with the same explosions. At first it seemed like an impulsive charge. But then Arya looked further down to see white walkers standing at the tree line. Waiting. Watching. This wasn't impulsive at all. They were sending a few soldiers at a time, trying to trigger all of the traps to leave the way clear for their advance. And it was working. The wights were climbing further and further up the hill with each charge.

There was a great crash that shook the hill just then. Arya turned to see the wight dragon had collided with the trees on the right side of the hill, snapping some of their ancient trunks with the force. Its neck was half ripped open by Daenerys' dragon and its wing torn so that it could not fly straight. But it was still a dragon that could breathe fire. Blue flames shot out the side of its neck, catching a few of the nearest trees aflame.

They had a chance against dead men, perhaps. But a dead dragon? This creature could end them all in one fell swoop if it wanted. Arya turned her sword in hand, wondering if she could sneak around the creature and surprise it from behind. There had to be some way to-

A screech came from above. Arya looked up to see Rhaegal diving from the sky. It landed on top of the dead dragon, crunching its neck in its jaws. A spurt of blue flame shot from the creature's mouth, as if in panic and Arya ducked as it came too close to their heads for comfort.

From Rhaegal's back, Jon drew his sword and stood, leaping from the green dragon. He drove his sword through the wight dragon's eye in one smooth motion. And it crumbled to the ground.

"Ice and fire joined as one," Howland Reed murmured beside them, almost reverently. Arya supposed reverence was due to the first man who had slayed a dragon in centuries. Jaime opted more for shock.

"Arya. Why the fuck was Jon on a dragon?"

"That's a great question, Jaime," Arya said. "It's a question I would love to answer for you later if we live, provided that you promise not to tell your father."

"He's a Targaryen, isn't he?" Jaime asked. "He must be but who." Realization crossed his face. "He's Rhaegar's son. Of course. I knew he looked familiar, I just couldn't place it past those northern features." He shook his head. "Your aunt. Is your aunt his mother?"

Arya sighed. Jaime really wasn't as stupid as many people believed him to be. "Like I said: Later."

Their moment of victory was short lived. From the darkness, an icy javelin sailed at Rhaegal, scraping the back of its neck and sheering away scales and flesh. The dragon cried out with pain and panic and launched itself into the air to escape the attack, swooping back into the clouds. It left Jon behind on the ground, sword in hand. There were no more dragons on the island. Just dead men, still testing the defenses of the hill.

Clearly exhausted, Jon made it to Arya's side. "Are you all right?"

"For now," Arya said. "I'm glad you're here. We could use another sword."

Jon looked down the hill at the wights that had gathered at the base. "I suppose you could." There was fear in his eyes. Even as one who had tasted death once before, he was afraid. Or maybe that was the reason for his fear. He knew what it was like to die-that endless cold which Berric had described-and he longed to avoid it again.

"You rode a dragon," Arya said softly. "That's something."

Jon laughed once. "Aye. That's something."

Two wights made the top of the hill without setting off any traps. Meera and Jon cut each of them down but it didn't matter. The white walkers knew now that the path was clear for them if they could just kill Bran's defenders.

"There are too many for us to fight," Jaime muttered under his breath.

He was right. But in that moment, Arya felt oddly steady. Maybe it was the certainty of death or just the calm before the storm.

 _There is only one god, and his name is death,_ Syrio's voice echoed through her head as she stared down at the dead men, clawing their way up the hill. _And there is only one thing we say to death._

"Not today," Arya muttered under her breath.

The wights reached them and their desperate battle began. A battle between men, the Children and the Others, just like the Long Night thousands of years ago.

And at the back of the pack, Arya saw _him._ Standing at the foot of the hill, behind all of the others, a calm expression on his face. The Night King. As the living battled the dead, he was content to wait patiently. Watching. Preparing to claim his victory.

* * *

It was all coming to an end. One way or another. The future was balanced on a knife's edge about to tip to one side. And Bran still did not know where it would fall.

All he knew was that the living were quickly beginning to lose their hold and it seemed certain that the dead would triumph. Everywhere he looked, fear and chaos had taken over. He saw it in the cellars of Harrenhal as the door between his sister and the dead splintered and the Hound began to fight off every wight that crawled through, a desperate snarl on his face.

He saw it in the base of the King's Pyre tower as the hinges of the door began to give and his mother stood ready to meet her doom with an air of calm strength.

He saw it in the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where his brother had taken up a sword again to prepare to beat back the dead trying to break inside. Despite the pain, he would not give up.

He saw it on every wall of Harrenhal. The dead were tumbling over the edges and the defenses were losing control. And countless men were dying. Playing their roles.

 _The Night King must think he has won,_ Bran thought. _He must be sure of that. It is the only way._

He had sacrificed a great many lives to make that happen. To trick the Night King into making a false move. There was just one thing left now.

Bran returned to his own mind and looked down the hill at the Night King. He grasped the hilt of the dagger once meant to kill him-the one Arya had given him to defend himself.

The Night King smiled and began walking up the hill.

* * *

In the midst of a battle, chaos took over and it was only the instinctual need to survive that kept Arya going. Any exhaustion or pain or fear she might have felt froze like ice, and she was left with the instincts of a wolf. At some point in the battle she downed a wight and ended up on her knees behind a tree. She had gotten separated from the others. From Jon, from Jaime, from Bran. She wasn't even sure where she was in this maze of trees. Only that she needed to keep fighting. But in that brief pause, she became aware, once again, of the people she needed to protect and in her fear, she slipped into the mind of a wolf.

Nymeria must have crossed the ice when the wights did, perhaps from a different side of the lake. For she saw the same trees as Arya. She raced through the woods, past Jon who was fending off a white walker and several wights. Past Bran who was guarded by Meera desperately fighting to keep the wights away. Past the children who sat in their trees, coaxing the roots to twist around the dead soldiers, dragging them back into the earth. At the foot of the hill stood the Night King. He was waiting...patiently waiting...for the rest of Bran's defenders to fall. Perhaps he was acting impulsively in coming to this island, but he was still smart.

Nymeria raced through the woods looking for Jaime. He was rested up against a tree, cupping his right arm over a wound at his side. Through Nymeria's nose, she could smell the blood. The wound was not fatal, but enough to slow him down. A few wights crashed toward him and Arya lunged at them, ripping through their limbs and heads with their great teeth.

 _Protect him,_ Arya thought. _Make sure he's safe._

Nymeria could protect Jaime...Arya had to protect Bran.

She snapped back into her own mind, still pressed up against the tree and peered around the trunk. She was halfway down the hill but she could see where Bran was from here. The Children beside him had fallen and Arya could not see Howland. It was only Meera left cutting through wights left and right. And the Night King...the Night King was starting up the hill.

There were wights between Arya and Bran. Lots of wights. It didn't matter. She spun from behind the tree, cutting through them, fighting her way up the right side of the ill as the Night King walked slowly up the front. She needed to give Meera help or she would die. Bran would die.

Arya cut the legs out from under a wight and drove her sword through its back as it fell. As she wrenched her sword away, she saw the Night King was nearly to Meera. When the girl stabbed out with her spear, he snapped it in half and drove the sharp end through her stomach. She was the only person left between him and Bran. Arya rushed toward them but found another white walker in her path, brandishing a long, thin sword. She ducked to the side as he struck, slashing out wildly. She had to get past him. She had to get to Bran. There was no one else between him and the Night King.

The white walker blocked her strike, immovable as stone. She could not win a contest of strength against him. He took a step forward and she was forced to take a step back. Just past her opponent, she could see Bran slowly drawing the Valyrian steel dagger she had given him for protection. His face was calm even though...even though there was no way he could...

The Night King stopped in front of him. Bran stabbed upward and the creature caught his wrist easily in his hand. Arya's eye widened and panic burst through her.

" _Bran!"_

Bran turned and looked at her. And for the briefest moment she saw him smile. What a sad expression it was and it cut Arya right to her heart. She ducked beneath the white walker's blade and drove the tip into its stomach, shattering it. But it was too little too late. The Night King had already twisted the blade from Bran's grip. And in the same moment he drove it into Bran's chest.

Arya heard a scream, like one that came from a pained animal. It was such a wretched sound that for a moment she did not believe it came from her. But as she screamed she was already moving toward the Night King, flying with speed she did not know she had, Winter's Fury in her hand. She could barely lift her sword anymore, she was so exhausted. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore.

The Night King apparently was not satisfied with a blade to Bran's heart as he went to draw his icy sword and bring it down on her brother's head. She slid between them, blocking the strike with her sword. The strength of it rattled her bones but she did not give. She barred her teeth in a snarl.

The Night King smirked, his other hand snapping up and closing tight around Arya's throat. The force of his grasp pushed her backward, close enough to brush Bran's cloak with her fingers. His hand burned like ice against her throat and cut off her breath. They were done. He knew it. She was only one more human to add to his army and she could not match his strength.

And yet...

The three fingers of her right hand curled around the hilt of the blade stuck in Bran's chest.

 _Keep it close,_ Bran had said. Arya wondered if he had seen this future when he gave the knife to her. Perhaps he had seen his death in the tangled web of time laid out before him. He hadn't told anyone because of course he hadn't. He knew that they would fight to change it...and perhaps that would have ended with the destruction of Westeros.

He played a quiet game of Cyvasse until he maneuvered every piece exactly where he needed it. And here was where it ended. With Arya, pulling the valyrian steel dagger from her brother's heart. It seemed to glow for a moment. The blade seemed to catch with green fire like that of the weapons of the Children. The green reflected in the Night King's eyes as he looked down-just in time to see the blade sink into his chest.

Pale green cracks splintered through the Night King where the blade had pierced him and moments later he shattered into nothing. Arya felt the hand leave her throat and she dropped to her knees, still clutching the dagger in her hand. All around her wights crumpled and white walkers shattered like glass. Through blurring vision, the forest seemed to blaze with green fire-but maybe that was only a hallucination.

The cold remained though. A terrible cold. Though the Night King's hand had vanished from her throat, she still felt it there. It burned like ice against bare skin and it did not ebb. It seemed to spread through Arya's whole body from her head to the tips of her fingers and toes.

"Arya," she heard a voice somewhere to her right but she could not see who was speaking. She could barely even discern their voice. Jon or Jaime? Were either of them even alive to call her name? " _Arya."_

She could not reply because she could not breathe. Instead she pitched backward into the darkness like a stone plunging through frigid water on a moonless night.

And all she could feel was cold.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Happy cliffhanger everyone! I know it seems like only one person died this chapter, but actually a lot more people (particularly side characters) are dead and you'll get a better idea of the full casualty count next time.**_

 _ **As for my interpretation of that little vow from Howland Reed a few chapters ago (earth and water, bronze and iron, ice and fire), I took those three things to symbolize Bran, Arya and Jon. Bran for his old god magic, Jon for his Targaryaness and Arya for her weapons and striking the final blow. All of them, in this case, being instrumental to the fall of the Night King. But that's just some symbolic bonus information that I couldn't sneak into the fic itself lol.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoyed! I'm glad I don't have to write battle anymore and I am free! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time for chapter 100!**_


	100. Chapter 100: Death

_**A/N: Welcome to chapter 100 everyone. Holy shit, can you even believe we GOT to chapter 100? I sure fucking can't. Especially when I originally plotted this story it was going to be...20 chapters. I'm hilarious. Anyway, enjoy this funfilled chapter of fun and no sadness at all ;)**_

 **Chapter 100: Death**

It was over. Jaime knew it in his bones. One moment he was fighting alongside Arya's wolf, desperately trying to keep back the wights. The next, the wights had fallen and the woods had gone silent. Completely and utterly silent. No more fighting. No more snarling. Nothing.

Jaime sagged against the tree letting out a breath. His whole body was trembling as he glanced down at Nymeria who had sat back on her haunches. "Thank you...for that," he murmured, reaching out to stroke her head. She let him. "Wouldn't have made it without you."

Nymeria blinked at him as if in acknowledgement. Then she stood again and took off running through the trees.

Jaime thought of Arya then and felt a spike of worry go through him. Had she made it? Had she survived the battle just like him? He had stumbled a ways down the hill and out of sight of the others.

"Arya!" a nearby voice cried out. Jon. Jaime's eyes widened and he raced up the hill. He nearly tripped over the fallen Howland Reed as he ran. The man had been stabbed in the chest and had already perished from his wounds. Further ahead, Jon was calling for Bran too, and his voice cracked with heart break when he did.

Jaime reached the top of the hill and saw an awful scene. Brandon Stark was slumped back against his stump, his eyes closed, blood pouring from a wound in his chest. His brother, Jon, was struggling to stop the blood flow and calling out for Bran to wake. He did not listen. And Arya was lying on the ground in front of him next to her whining wolf. Her eyes were closed and there was a blackish-blue handprint on her neck, like a bruise, but Jaime could not tell if she was alive or dead.

"Arya." Her name left his lips like something of a prayer as he dropped down beside her, brushing her hair back from her face. Her skin was cold but he could still feel a faint heartbeat. She did not appear to be wounded anywhere but her neck and yet...she seemed as if she was just barely clinging to life. Her wolf nudged her right hand with her nose, letting out a low whine.

 _Please no,_ Jaime thought. _She can't be dead._

"What happened?" he asked Jon, his voice hoarse.

"She...killed him," Jon muttered.

"Killed who?" Jaime asked.

"The Night King," Jon said. "He stabbed Bran with that dagger. Arya ran to fight him and he caught her by the throat. But she pulled the knife from Bran's chest and drove it through him." He looked up at Jaime his eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what's wrong with her. And Bran is...I think he's already..."

Yes, of course he was. No one could survive a knife to the heart. Jaime was not sure if anyone could survive the Night King's hand around their throat either. There was nothing in any book about that. But he had a sense that if they did not get Arya help soon...

 _She can't die. I won't let her die._

Something rustled in the bushes and Jaime looked up to see a few of the surviving Children crawling into sight. They came around Bran, resting their hands on him. One of them whispered something in his ear in a strange language and another took Jon's hand and guided it away from the wound.

"Leave him here with us," the creature said.

"I...I can't," Jon mumbled. "I have to bring him back to my family."

"We will take care of him. You must leave him," the Child looked up at Jaime. "Take her back to shore, quickly. She is not yet lost but she may soon be. There are others who can help her in the black keep."

Jaime nodded, scooping Arya up in his arms at once and standing. "Come on, Snow. We need to go."

Jon hesitated, still reluctant to leave his little brother behind.

"Look. I don't understand how the magic of the Children works any more than I understood Bran's Three Eyed Raven powers. But if anyone can save him, its them," Jaime said. "So we leave his life in the hands of the Children and we find someone else to help Arya."

Jon nodded once and stood. "All right. But...how do we get off the island?"

"The boat was this way." Jaime jerked his head back toward the shore. "Follow me."

They raced to through the trees. Jaime felt the gaze of every weirwood in the forest fix on him as they passed. Or perhaps they were staring at Arya, the one who had killed the Night King. Jaime had been so worried about her; he hadn't even had time to process that she had done it. She had saved all of them and ended the Long Night when it had only just begun.

They reached the shore and found that while the ice had melted, it had cracked the boat and left pieces floating on the top of the water. It was too far to swim and by the time they fashioned a new boat, Arya would be long gone. Jaime let out a frustrated breath. Dammit all to the seven hells, why did the God's Eye have to be so damn impassable?

The ground shuddered as something crashed behind them and Jaime whipped around to see the black dragon landing at the foot of the hill, accidentally crushing a few saplings as he did. Daenerys sat atop his back. "Is she all right?" she asked.

"No," Jon called up. "But she's not dead yet."

"Then get on. Hurry," Daenerys said. "I'll get you back to the castle."

 _Thank the gods,_ Jaime thought. For the first time, he was actually glad to see the dragon queen and her dragon. Jon climbed up onto Drogon's back and held out his arms for Arya. Jaime passed her over and clambered up as best he could with one hand and a wounded side. He clung to one of the spines for dear life as the dragon launched itself into the air.

Jaime wished he could have enjoyed that moment. Flying on the back of a dragon was a dream of every young child in the seven kingdoms long after the dragons had gone extinct. And truly, it was a miraculous sort of thing. If Arya was awake she probably would have laughed at the joy of it.

But Arya was not awake, and Jaime could think of nothing else, even while flying through the air.

* * *

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths had become the gathering point for the wounded and dying as everyone realized the battle was over. It was one of the largest halls in the entirety of the seven kingdoms and yet it still did not feel like enough space. Maesters were working as fast as they possibly could to save as many as possible.

And none of them knew what was wrong with Arya.

When they had brought Arya into the Hall, Robb was the first to see them. His one remaining eye passed through a wide variety of emotions between realizing Jon was alive, Bran was dead and Arya was dying. At once, he became a commander again, rushing to find his little sister help. Jaime knew that if he could, the man would have moved mountains for her. He had once given up a rebellion and started a war when she was in danger, after all.

But the maesters did not know what to treat. There were no obvious wounds on Arya's body and though the bruising around her neck was severe, it was nowhere near life threatening. Yet she _was_ dying. Her heartbeat growing fainter, her breathing weakening.

 _Why,_ Jaime wondered. _Is the Night King's touch so deadly?_

Bran had been marked by the Night King at one point as well, but he had said himself that he was marked while in a vision. The Night King had not actually touched him. But Arya...

Jaime's worry for her only grew as a maester attended to the wound at his side. He had wanted to ignore it all together but the maester insisted that if he ignored it, he would lose too much blood and it could become infected. So Jaime sat a short distance away, watching Arya and her older brothers who kept pacing back and forth beside her cot.

Moments later, Catelyn Stark appeared in the hall and rushed forward to join her children. Jaime could just barely hear Robb explain what had happened over the noise of the room and Catelyn's hand leapt to her mouth to cover up a sob. She dropped down beside Arya, brushing her hair away from her face.

"Jaime."

Jaime turned to see his father standing beside him. Despite their harsh words to each other, it was a relief to see him alive. "Father. Are you..."

"I'm fine." He looked Jaime over, as if checking for serious injury. "So are you it seems."

Jaime nodded once.

Tywin looked from Jaime to where Arya lay on the floor. Jaime saw the worry flash through him and he dreaded having to explain what was happening to his father. Despite anything Tywin might say, he cared a great deal for Arya even beyond her usefulness to his legacy.

"Is she..."

"She's alive but she's...barely breathing," Jaime said. "And not waking up."

"What happened to her?"

"I think it was...the hand around her throat," Jaime said. "I'm not sure what happens when he touches you but-"

"Who? When _who_ touches you?"

Jaime swallowed hard. "The Night King. Arya is the one who killed him. I saw it."

It was an amazing statement. The very fact that the Night King could be killed at all was a miracle. But Tywin seemed more furious than amazed. "She shouldn't have been anywhere _near_ the Night King. What was she doing there? What were _you_ doing there?"

"Bran Stark placed us there," Jaime said. "Part of his plan, I assume. I suppose dying was also part of his plan. The Night King stabbed him in the heart."

"Seven hells," Tywin said. For a moment he seemed to want to go to her. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. Instead his father hovered beside him, watching and waiting for the worst. Jaime prayed silently for Arya to open her eyes.

"She's not breathing," Catelyn's voice cut through Jaime like a knife. "She's not...Arya. Arya, _please_."

Jaime felt his father's grip tight on his arm like a vice. His entire body had gone taut and a stricken expression settled on his face. Jaime himself felt as if he couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening.

"Wait," a voice called from the crowd. "Wait. Let me through."

Jaime looked up to see Berric Dondarian making his way over to Arya. He was a bloody mess himself from the battle and limping. He could not have understood what had happened to Arya any more than the rest of them. And yet he looked to Lady Catelyn, his one eye wild.

"I can save her, my lady. If you let me...I can save her."

Catelyn was too desperate to protest against any small bit of hope. She stepped aside and let the man kneel down over Arya. And they all watched in silence, hoping that he was telling the truth.

* * *

When Arya asked Berric Dondarian what death was like, he told her it was cold. That was how she knew she was dying or already dead. But it wasn't that that frightened her. It was the...sensation of falling. The sensation of tumbling through nothing with no beginning and no end. She reached out, instinctively, to try to stop herself from plunging further into that cold nothingness.

She grasped onto the mind of her wolf.

When she opened her eyes, she was back on the Isle of Faces. Through a wolf's gaze, she found herself looking up at a large tree at the top of the hill. Only that did not make sense because there had been no tree at the top of the hill. Only a stump where Bran had died. But now, a great weirwood had bloomed from the soil. Its white trunk was twisted with streaks of red like blood and its face...its face belonged to Bran. His eyes were rolled back in his head and red tears streaked down his face. But it was him, wrapped in the bark of the weirwood tree.

He did not breathe or move and yet Arya had the sense that he was not dead. Only...changed into something else. Something that had grown from her brother but was not him all the same.

As a wolf, Arya could not cry for him. Instead, she howled. It was all she could do to apologize for failing him. Though perhaps she was serving her punishment here. If her human body was dead now, she might live out the rest of her life as a wolf guarding Bran's tree. They were both changed. When Arya finished howling, she lowered her great head and found herself staring into the eyes of a raven, perched on the end of a low hanging branch.

" _Back,"_ it cried. _"Go back."_

And something tugged on Arya's soul again. She was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

* * *

Arya woke up.

Her eyes snapped open and she drew in a desperate breath. It filled her lungs with painful sweetness. Her throat burned. Her whole body ached. But she was...

 _Alive?_

"Arya!"

That was her mother's voice and she was aware of someone pulling her into their arms. That hurt as well but Arya did not care. It was a relief to know her mother was alive. Over her shoulder, she saw her brothers too. Robb and Jon. They had both survived the fighting.

 _But not Bran,_ she thought. _I left him on that island._

"Mother, I'm sorry," she choked out in a voice which made barely any sound. "I couldn't save him. Bran. I couldn't save Bran."

"It's all right, Arya." Her mother pulled back, brushing away her hair from her face. "You saved all of us. Both of you did."

It was only then that Arya realized it was over. Truly. She had stabbed the Night King and his followers all crumbled with him. And just like that, the battle had ended.

She had only been the blade of course. Bran had been the one to place the pieces and sacrifice himself to give her that window of opportunity. She wished he could see what he had done.

She remembered the tree then. The tree with Bran's face which now seemed distant enough to be a dream.

 _He sees,_ she thought. _He sees it all._

"Ser Berric is dead," Jon said from her left and Arya turned to see her brother kneeling over the leader of the Brotherhood who had crumpled over onto the ground.

"Dead?" Arya asked. "What happened?"

"He gave you his life," Catelyn said. "You were dead Arya. You had stopped breathing. But the moment he put his mouth to yours and breathed into your lungs...you woke. He saved you."

Tears burned in Arya's eyes and she wished more than anything that she could repay him for that gift. But she would be in debt to him for the rest of her life.

 _Or to the Brotherhood, at least,_ she thought. And perhaps that was his reason in the end. He knew she would honor her debts. It was the way of both Starks and Lannisters.

Arya quickly skimmed the room for others she knew. Her older brothers and her mother were there. She did not see Sansa though she decided it was because her sister was still hiding safe in the cellar somewhere. She would not allow herself to think of another possibility. Tyrion was off to the side, hovering over someone's body. She could not tell who and she could bring herself to look for too long. Not Jaime. It could not be-

She caught sight of the man to her left side, only a few paces away, bandaged and bruised but alive. Jaime gave her a tired smile and she let out a breath. They had both survived after all.

Arya looked back to her mother. "Sansa...Have you found her yet?"

"Robb said he sent her to the cellars. I'm sure she's all right," Catelyn said.

"Good," Arya murmured. "And ah...Lord Tywin? Did he survive the battle as well?"

"Yes," Catelyn said. "He was here just a moment ago. He left when you woke up."

Arya nodded once. The relief she felt at his survival surprised her. She had been...quite afraid to lose him and she did not understand why.

 _He's instrumental to the peace,_ she told herself. _He'll be the one to make sure things transition smoothly. And I do not want another war._

Yes...that explanation would serve well enough for now.

* * *

It was strange to see the sun again. Arya thought it might be lost to them forever. It was impossible to say how long the darkness had lasted or how long they had fought at Harrenhal. Some said it had been two full days of dark. Others longer. But no one had really been keeping track once the fighting started. They were too busy trying to survive.

The towers were in ruins and scattered all throughout the Flowstone yard and Outerward. People were still trying to extract the bodies of fallen soldiers from beneath the rubble to prepare them for burial. One of those they extracted was Podrick who had been killed by a falling rock while delivering a message. One moment he was alive, the next dead. Not even killed by a sword but by a stray chunk of stone.

Another was Bronn who had manned one of the scorpions in the Tower of Dread. The dragon's attack had knocked him loose from his perch and sent him flying onto the bridge. If that hadn't killed him, the crumbling of the bridge and the long fall moments later had. Arya wondered if perhaps their little drinking group the night before battle had been cursed because the Hound had also perished in the fighting. It was a sword that killed him. Many swords. He had defended Sansa in the cellar long after he had been fatally wounded. When the wights fell, he could not even make the steps of the cellar and he perished of his injuries.

Sansa had survived though. If the Hound had lived, Arya would have removed him from her list for protecting her sister from the wights. It did not erase his sins, perhaps, but it did erase her anger. Arya kept her older sister and Jaime kept his younger brother. The four of them were the survivors of their little drinking group. So perhaps they had beaten the odds after all.

There were so many others among the dead. Thoros of Myr who had died defending the tunnel in the Godswood from wights. Melisandre, the red witch, who had died keeping the bear pit burning and trying to eliminate as many potential undead soldiers as possible. Kevan Lannister who had died fighting back wights in King's Pyre tower. Meera and Howland Reed, who had died defending Bran.

And Bran...

Could Arya count Bran among the dead? He was not quite dead but he was lost to them forever, bound in the trunk of a great tree on an island that closed itself off from the rest of the world. He had sacrificed his humanity to make sure the rest of humanity could move forward. And she mourned him more than all of the others.

There were blessings in the wake of the battle, of course. Her mother had survived, along with her older brothers and her sister. Robb was missing an eye now, but it was something he insisted he would learn to live without. He was lucky to even be alive, and his children would not be fatherless in the coming months.

Robb was not the only to end the battle maimed but breathing. Gendry had suffered severe burns on his left side and was still in a great deal of pain. But the maesters said he would likely live. Arya was grateful for that, though she hated to see her old friend in pain at all.

Merwyn had lost his arm at the elbow while fighting a wight and broken his leg when he pitched backward off the wall to avoid certain death. The leg would heal well but the arm, naturally, would not grow back. He had apologized that he would no longer be able to serve as he once had and Jaime told him that was nonsense.

"It's not all that difficult to learn to live with only one hand," Jaime said. "I'm still fighting, aren't I? It would please me if you would continue to serve our house once you're recovered. In fact I will see you knighted for your loyalty. It's a crime we have not given you the honor sooner."

"You'll have to wait until my leg is healed," Merwyn said with a weak smile. "Or I won't be able to properly kneel."

On that cold, cloudy morning-the first morning after it all ended-the castle was quiet under the weight of the losses. Soldiers walked through the ruins with somber faces, looking like ghosts in their own body. They gathered the dead. They worked to repair the gates and walls, even though they expected no further attack. When anyone did talk, it was in low voices. It felt disrespectful to disturb the peace.

Arya sat beside Jon that morning at the base of the ruined King's Pyre tower, looking out across the Flowstone yard, watching the goings on in silence. She was still sore from her brush with death and her voice cracked when she spoke. But even the pain felt sweet to her. She was lucky enough to be alive.

The green dragon, Rhaegal, flew overhead and Jon looked up, watching him go with a wistful expression on his face.

"It must have been something," Arya said. "Flying through the sky."

"You did it too," Jon said. "You were just unconscious."

"I know. I'm very irritated about that," Arya said. "But...how many people saw you. Do you know?"

Jon shook his head. "You did of course. I'm sure plenty of people saw someone riding Rhaegal but could not place the rider's face. Most of these people don't know me after all. And most of them were focusing on surviving." He exhaled. "But I don't know."

"Daenerys," Arya said.

"Possibly, but she hasn't said anything," Jon said.

"No. I mean...Daenerys is coming."

They both stood as the dragon queen approached them, bowing their heads.

"Your grace," Arya said. "I have heard that you offered us a ride across the God's Eye. Thank you. I might not be alive if you hadn't."

"I should be the one thanking you," Daenerys said. "You killed the Night King after all. I only managed to unseat him."

"It helped that you unseated him," Arya said. "He would have been harder to kill on dragon back."

Daenerys gave a small smile and inclined her head. Then she turned her gaze on Jon.

 _She knows,_ Arya thought. _She saw._

"There are reports that someone rode astride Rhaegal during the battle," Daenerys said. "A rider dressed all in black. I saw the same figure in the darkness though I could not see his face. Then Rhaegal crashed onto that isle and left without a rider. It narrowed down my choices."

Jon's jaw tightened. "Forgive me. There was not time to ask permission, your Grace."

"I'm not asking for apologies," Daenerys said. "I want to know how. Most cannot hope to ride a dragon. Even some Targaryens failed to mount them. So how?"

"Bran," Jon said. The response was immediate and Arya wondered if he had been preparing for the question ever since he leapt onto the green dragon's back. "My brother can...could...warg into the minds of animals and control them. He saw me in trouble and brought your dragon to help me. If not for him, I'm sure I would be dead."

"He's right," Arya said. "Bran was very powerful. He was trying to maneuver the pieces of the battle where he needed to end it all. And he succeeded in the end."

"He did," Daenerys considered this answer for a long moment. "I wish he had informed me of his methods beforehand...but I cannot exactly argue with the results." She inclined her head. "Thank you for being honest with me, Lord Snow."

"Of course, your grace," Jon said.

They watched the dragon queen walk away and Arya let out a long breath. "I'll be honest, Jon...I was very worried you might tell the truth just then."

"I know," Jon said. "I always tried to be honest because it's what father would do. But then...he told one great lie in his life. So I suppose I am allowed one lie as well."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Good. We'll keep your secret between the six of us then."

"Six?" Jon's brow furrowed. "The only ones remaining who know are you, mother, Robb and Sansa. That's five including me."

"Yes, but Jaime figured it out when he saw you leap off the dragon," Arya said. "Apparently, you look somewhat like your father."

Jon exhaled. "Well, I'm sure you can keep him to secrecy."

"I'm sure I can," Arya said, sinking slowly back down into her seat.

"Are you all right?" Jon asked. "Do you need to go in and rest?"

"No. I'm fine," Arya said. "I'm just...glad that it's over."

Jon gave her a small smile and mussed her hair. "Me too."

* * *

The ground was too hard to make graves for so many people...so it was easier to burn them. Not all of the dead joined the pyre of course. Sons and fathers of noble houses were returned to their families instead. Arya knew Kevan's body was already on his way back to Casterly Rock to be entombed there by his wife and children. But for most, their grave became the flames.

The living stood outside of Harrenhal to watch the dead burn and pay tribute to those who had given their lives in the Long Night. It was the first time so many houses had fought together and come out the other side victorious.

The flames rose high. The smoke stung Arya's eyes. But from the ashes of this pyre a new day was dawning. And in time, spring would come again.

* * *

There was a small celebration in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths when the night fell again. Though perhaps celebration was too strong a word for it. Everyone was reluctant to have fun so soon after such a deadly battle. Most of them were afraid to even speak too loudly. They simply crowded around tables and drank as much as they could to help them forget.

But soon enough, the drink began to settle everyone's nerves and loosen tongues. Oberyn Martell, who had survived the battle with only a few scratches on him, raised a cup to Daenerys Targaryen. "To the Dragon Queen. She danced with an undead dragon and won. And saved us from dying in a blue blaze of fire."

Everyone raised their goblets in response and pounded on the table. Daenerys had surely gained some favor with the people after her work on the battlefield. It would serve her well when she became queen. She stood with a gracious smile, raising her cup. "To Arya Lannister. The hero of Harrenhal who killed the Night King."

The following cheer was so loud it startled Arya and she looked around wide eyed. Jaime grinned at her from across the table, raising his cup. Arya felt compelled to stand on her bench and raise her mug as well.

"To my brother Bran," Arya said. "Who gave his life to give me the chance to put a knife through the Night King. Without him we never would have lasted as long as we did."

The soldiers cheered for him too. At this point, it seemed they might cheer for anyone named. But Bran was not there to carry on the toasts so instead the celebration continued, this time a bit more lively. Several people who Arya had never met before came to thank her and shake her hand. Several others simply stared at her from a distance, too afraid to approach the Stark turned Lannister who had killed the Night King.

When Arya was a child, she had always wondered what it would like to be a great hero beloved for their deeds. Now she could answer that it felt...strange. Her eleven year old self could not have imagined that one day no one would begrudge her fighting with a sword. In fact they would praise her for it. Thank her for it. The attention was almost overwhelming.

"Will you distract them," Arya whispered to Jaime. "I need some air."

"Why me?" Jaime asked.

"Like you said at our wedding, you're better with people," Arya said. "So people are your job."

Jaime sighed but he did not actually look very upset. "Make your escape. I'll handle anyone who tries to follow you."

"Thank you," Arya said.

"You're welcome, my lady," Jaime said, catching her hand and placing a kiss on one of her knuckles.

Arya rolled her eyes and ducked out the back door and into the night. The Flowstone yard was nearly as crowded as the hall with people and while most would not recognize her, she did not want to chance it. She went instead into one of the ruined towers-King's Pyre-and climbed until the voices of the others faded from her ears. She wound up and up the ruined stairs until she nearly collided with a familiar face.

"Lord Tywin," she breathed. "I...what are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be at the Hall?"

"Shouldn't you?" Tywin asked. His voice was tight with irritation.

"I was for a while but I...needed a break," Arya said. "I'm not used to being the center of attention like this. I don't think I've felt so many eyes on me before. Not even at my wedding."

Tywin glanced out the window. "Well, naturally your actions on the battlefield are of note. It's to be expected."

His voice was so...dismissive, and somehow it stung Arya. He hadn't spoken to her in this tone in quite some time. In fact, she realized, they hadn't spoken at all since just before the battle began.

"Yes. Naturally," Arya said slowly. "I can find another tower to hide from the others of course."

"No need. I was returning to the hall," Tywin said passing her by. "You're welcome to stay here for a time, though you should return before your presence is missed."

Arya swallowed hard staring after him. "Wait."

He stopped and waited though he did not turn back to look at her.

"You're angry with me," Arya said slowly. "And...usually when you are, I know why but this time I don't. What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything."

"Did I _not_ do something then?" Arya asked. "Something that I was supposed to do? You can't claim you're not angry at me. I can see that you are."

Tywin looked back at her then, his gaze cold. "Do you recall my last orders to you before the battle?"

"Don't do anything reckless and come back alive," Arya said. A hint of irritation crept into her own voice. "It's impossible not to be somewhat reckless in a battle my lord. Especially a battle like that. But I'm here now. It ended up all right." She turned away from him and started toward the stairs. "There's no reason for you to be-"

He grabbed her arm and jerked her back. Arya fell silent at once when she saw the anger blazing in his eyes. "You _died,_ Arya. You didn't come back alive, do you understand that? Reckless actions happen in battle, yes, but _you_ threw yourself at the Night King. I had hoped that your incurable and impulsive lust for danger and stopped after the incident at Casterly Rock but it seems it has only grown. You cannot be the Lady of the Rock if you're _dead_."

Usually, Arya would be more than willing to snap back at him. But there was something raw and frightening about his fury in that moment, and it burned as it never had before. Everyone else saw her killing the Night King as a good thing and they praised her for it. Not Tywin. Instead he was furious because...

 _Because I died,_ she thought. _And he was worried._

That realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. It wasn't that she hadn't seen Tywin concerned for her before. But each time he was, she could excuse it as a man looking after the wellbeing of his investment. This on the other hand. He had been...afraid for her.

"I'm...sorry," she said softly. Had she ever once apologized to him? Maybe once or twice when she was trying to get something from him or when she didn't truly mean it. But this apology she meant. "I just...I didn't have a choice. If I hadn't everyone would have..." She swallowed hard. "Jaime would be dead. My brothers. My mother. They would all be dead. And...and so would you. I couldn't let that happen."

There was a long silence between them. Then, Tywin let a long breath. He slowly uncurled his grip from her arm. "Every time there's a war you find some way to put yourself in terrible danger. I suppose this shouldn't have surprised me."

"No," Arya murmured. "But...it's all right. Peace is coming now. I won't be able to do anything reckless if there's no war."

He studied her, a strange look in his eye. "Yes, I know." His hand lifted and she felt the tips of his fingers brush the bruising on her neck. "Does it hurt?"

"A bit," Arya said. "It hurt much more in the moment. Like it was burning." She shivered at the memory. The image of the Night King standing over her, his hand curled around her throat, an awful smirk on his face. "And then I was...so cold. Colder than I've ever felt in my life." She swallowed hard. "I really did die...didn't I?"

The thought was terrifying to her. Somehow everything about the last day had seemed like some terrible dream. But it wasn't. She had died and if not for Berric she would not have come back.

Tywin nodded once. "Yes. You died."

Arya's eye burned with tears but she forced them back. "I am...sorry about that."

Tywin sighed and she felt his hand resting on her shoulder. "It doesn't matter anymore. You won't have cause to do it again."

Arya nodded, lowering her head and closing her eyes. It was all bubbling to the surface. The fear and the grief and anger that had come with that moment. Losing Bran, facing the Night King. And dying. That was just in the past twenty four hours. That was only the end of a long list of hardships and losses that led her to this moment. How much more could she even take before she crumbled?

She didn't have time to answer that question. The hand on her shoulder circled as Tywin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her carefully to him, almost uncertainly. She gave to it, resting her forehead against his chest. She _was_ relieved he had survived. And it wasn't for any sort of logical reason.

She just preferred him alive to dead. Simple as that.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Haha, what a great time for Arya and Tywin to both actually acknowledge their emotions right before the uh...fun stuff to come. Also, RIP to all the dead characters who died off page because sometimes battle kills people chaotically and suddenly and no one they love is around to witness it. Woot.**_

 _ **As always THANK YOU for sticking with me for one hundred chapters. I hope you stick around for the few more chapters we have left. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	101. Chapter 101: Celebration

_**A/N: Sorry I'm like...an hour late this time around. I'm working at a creative writing camp at the moment so yep! Busy busy. But NOT too busy to give you guys a chapter. Should be a good one for you Arya/Jaime fans and for those of you who aren't fans...kudos to making it this far through the fic I suppose. Its also not most of the chapter so you'll be fine.**_

 _ **Without further ado, enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 101: Celebration**

The winter continued on and Westeros began the slow process of rebuilding. In the aftermath of such a great war, there was no time to rest. There were far too many logistics that required attention. Logistics like relocating the many refugees who had migrated south, taking stock of food stores to be sure that they would not die of famine now that the Night King was gone, assessing the damage to fields and forests that became marching grounds for the army of the dead, and one hundred other little details in between. Some regions were nearly unaffected by the Long Night, such as Dorne and the Reach. The North and the Riverlands could not say the same.

Most affected of all was the Vale, which had been utterly devastated by the Night King's sudden attack. There were survivors, of course, but the Eyrie had become a blasted ruin much like Harrenhal before it and many of the surrounding towns were wiped out. Those who had survived the carnage were those from small villages too insignificant to be targeted. In any case, the Arryns, one of the great families of Westeros, were dead, their line no more than text in a history book now. A new Warden of the East would need to be chosen once the chaos died.

Tywin was involved in nearly all of these matters in some capacity, as the Lord Protector of the Realm. He was in communication with all of the lords of Westeros as they worked to resettle and repair the land and he strove to ensure the West and the Crownlands in particular were settled and calm after the influx of refugees. House Stark had perhaps the most difficult job of bringing their people back into their homes, and House Tully, along with their Bannermen, took on the task of assisting the Vale. The Tullys and the Arryns had, after all, been bound by marriage, so they considered it their duty.

Daenerys' people participated in the recovery of the country as well. They had no choice in the matter. It was part of Daenerys' image as a savior of Westeros. Certainly, the people had begun to see her and her dragons in a much more favorable light since she saved many of them in battle. She did not yet press the issue of the crown with either Tywin or Margaery. She seemed to understand that it would be in poor taste to do so after such a war. Tywin had made her a promise, and she trusted that. When everything was settled, she would wear the crown and he would see to it that the transition was peaceful.

The next moons passed slowly with short days and heavy snows through much of the north and Riverlands, which slowed the progress of any refugees. It was clear that, despite victory, everyone in Westeros was feeling beaten down by the war-and all of the wars which came before it. Perhaps that was why Margaery suggested, in typical Tyrell fashion, that a celebration be held at the Red Keep.

The celebration at Harrenhal, after all, had been little more than desperate drinking in order to forget the battle of the previous night. Not suited to the near impossible victory which they had earned. That was how the queen explained it at any rate.

"They'll sing songs about what just happened for years to come. Long after we're dead," Margaery told him. "A celebration will be good for everyone's spirits."

"And a waste of resources," Tywin said. "There's still a long winter ahead of us."

"Yes, and for just a few nights, the lords and ladies of Westeros should be able to take their mind off of that," Margaery said. "The people of King's Landing as well."

Tywin agreed, eventually, to hold the celebration in a few moons time. It was not excessively lavish. It would be irresponsible if it was, especially in the middle of winter. But the Reach had been generous in supplying food for the banquet. For Margaery, it served the purpose of a distraction. But for Tywin it served another. Many lords and ladies would be present when Daenerys at last took the crown and would swear loyalty to her there, thus ensuring a certain level of peace. And once she did have the throne...

 _Once she has the throne, I will be put on trial,_ Tywin mused.

It was a strange thought. Tywin had been avoiding trial for his actions for a long time, because his terrible deeds had been of use to someone else. Now, decades later, justice was about to find him. Ned Stark would be pleased about that. His daughter on the other hand...

Tywin watched Arya cross the room to her mother. She was looking much better than she had one moon ago. Not so pale. The mark on her neck remained, a reminder of what had happened, but no other mark of death was upon her. He was not sure how Arya would react to the news of his deal, but he knew it might drive her to do something reckless.

"I would call this celebration much needed," Margaery said, appearing at his side. "A lift in everyone's spirits after a difficult month."

"I'm sure your grandmother would call it the same," Tywin said.

"My grandmother and I are often of one mind, it's true," Margaery said. "At least the realm seems to be calming."

"It seems to be," Tywin said. "Word from the citadel suggests that the winter will carry on for some time. Maybe years. But after so many people died in the battle of the Long Night, we might have enough food to last."

"What a morbid thought," Margaery sighed. "So when the dust settles, where will my son and I land?"

Tywin did not reply immediately.

"We discussed the possibility," Margaery said, lowering her voice as she turned to look out the window. "That a new queen might soon sit the throne. You told me that only a great deal of luck would keep things as they were without war. So was luck on our side?"

"Yes and no," Tywin said. "It appears the transition will be peaceful. Daenerys does not want to fight a war if she can avoid it and seems committed to allowing most of the current lords and ladies to maintain their holdings. According to Tyrion, Daenerys plans to name your son as her heir."

"Until she makes heirs of her own," Margaery said.

"Yes. Until then. It's a gesture more than anything. But you will be given the Stormlands and, now that the Arryns are gone, it's likely the Baratheons will take the title of Warden of the East."

"I suppose things could be much worse," Margaery sighed. "And it's rare to maintain the regency for sixteen years, isn't it? No doubt some other war would break out before Steffon ever sat the throne." She glanced up at him. "I'm not sure you would survive the entire sixteen years."

"It's unlikely," Tywin agreed. He was already in his seventieth year after all. Few men lived past eighty. And he now knew that he would not even live to see the spring.

"She charms them all, doesn't she?" Margaery observed, staring across the way at Daenerys who was speaking with a few lords and ladies with a smile on her face. "Now that they don't look at her as an enemy, they're all susceptible to it."

Tywin inclined his head, conceding the point. Her father, when he was young, had once had the same easy charm about himself. A natural with people of all sorts. Tywin saw so much of Daenerys' father in her with the exception of the cruelty and the madness. Those could set in with time but he would have to leave that possibility to those younger than him.

"So how shall I fare in the Stormlands?" Margaery asked. "I assume that the political situation there is tumultuous, considering that at one point, three Baratheons were fighting for the crown."

"Things have settled since the War of the Five Kings," Tywin said. "You'll face some dissent, no doubt, but none of them have the energy to start a war with you, and there are hardly any other candidates for lord of Storm's End. If they turned against you, they'd have the Reach to contend with."

"Yes, and we do have far more soldiers, don't we?" Margaery sipped her drink. "I don't think it will come to that. You see, I'm rather charming too."

"So you've said," Tywin said dryly.

Margaery flashed a winning smile before letting it drop slightly as she sighed. "So...Daenerys will be queen and your son will be her hand. Will you return to the Rock?"

Tywin tapped his finger against the rim of his goblet. "We'll discuss everything in more detail when the celebration is at its end."

Margaery studied him for a moment before nodding once. "Yes, Lord Tywin. I think that will be for the best."

As she walked away, Tywin could not help but wonder if she suspected the deal he had made with Daenerys. She was an intelligent woman beneath her charms. But this did not seem the time or place to speak about such things.

As the night wore on, Tywin spoke to many of the lords and ladies to get a sense of their feelings toward Daenerys. Most had warmed to her, as he had predicted. The realms loved a good hero. That was the reason they had rallied around Robert Baratheon. He had been a terrible ruler, but the songs they sang about him were sweet, so most ignored his less desirable qualities. Daenerys was a better ruler than Robert of course though it was not hard to achieve that.

Even Robb Stark, who had been hostile to Daenerys at the dragon pit, had let most of his suspicions fade.

"I am not sure what kind of ruler she will make yet," Robb told him later in the evening. "But she did follow through on her promise to fight for the living. And it was only because of her that our reinforcements made it south to Harrenhal. If we hadn't...well I'm not sure the living would have prevailed."

"No," Tywin agreed. At the very least, he would be dead, along with Lady Stark and Tyrion. And if the reinforcements had attempted the charge even without Daenerys, Robb Stark would be missing more than an eye. "You wished for her to act like a queen and protect the people before you knelt...and she did do that."

"She did," Robb said. "So is it true? That she will sit the throne soon?"

Tywin nodded once.

"And what my mother told me. Is that also true?"

"I think that depends what your mother told you."

"I'd rather not say it out loud, considering the crowded room."

Tywin exhaled. "Has Lady Stark told anyone else or just you?"

"Just me," Robb said. "It was relevant information. And soon enough everyone will know."

"Yes, they will. At the right time, in the right place," Tywin said. But he supposed it was best that Robb Stark knew before hand or his honor might make it difficult for him to kneel to the Dragon Queen. It wasn't as if the Lannisters and Starks were loyal friends, but they had been allies in several conflicts and his younger sister was married to Tywin's son. If asked to pick between the Targaryens and the Lannisters, the Targaryens would be the wiser choice. But Starks weren't always wise when honor was at stake.

"My father would be pleased with it," Robb said. "You facing your crimes. But I'm not sure if he would be pleased with me bending the knee to another Targaryen. Not after all of the work he did in Robert's Rebellion to overthrow them."

"Your father would be satisfied enough with the survival of your house," Tywin said. "In any case, it doesn't matter if he would be satisfied or not. The dead do not have any say in the affairs of the living."

"Not anymore at least," Robb said.

Tywin exhaled. Yes, hopefully the dead would stay dead for another few thousand years, until the people of Westeros had nearly forgotten them again and dismissed them as legends. For now, they were recent memory and everyone was glad to be rid of them.

That was the reason for the turn in Daenerys' favor, but she was not the only one garnering praise and attention from the crowds. No, Arya had become the most popular person at the celebration as word of her actions on the battlefield spread. More than one person asked Tywin if it was true. If his daughter in law had truly killed the Night King. Many were skeptical about the story, after all, and thought that surely Jaime, the famous swordsmen, must have done the deed. But no, Tywin assured them. Arya was the one who had struck the final blow.

In the immediate aftermath of the battle, Tywin had been more fixated on Arya living than on what her final dagger strike meant for his House. While Arya was a Stark by birth, she was a Lannister now in name. It meant that his house would always be associated with the fall of the Night King for centuries to come. In the long run, it would completely overshadow any of Tywin's less honorable deeds.

He had always been looking to leave behind a strong house. He never thought to leave behind a legacy of heroes. But neither would he complain.

Arya did not seem to know how to handle it all. She had never been so much the center of attention and plenty of lords and ladies she had never met approached her to speak. Tywin wondered how many times she had already been forced to recount the story. It wasn't exactly a pleasant tale, considering she had lost her brother and almost died herself. But most times when Tywin glanced across the room to find her, she had some sort of cordial smile on her face, though her eyes screamed for escape.

"I can hardly reach my own daughter tonight," Catelyn Stark observed, appearing by his side. "She's quite popular. And I heard some of the singers in the corner already trying to write a song for her."

"I'm sure there will be many before spring arrives," Tywin said. This war had been a historical event of unprecedented proportions. It was strange to be a part of it at all. "I can see her wanting to escape the hall already."

"She'll never make it two feet without being stopped," Catelyn said. "I suppose its good practice. Soon she'll have to deal with the problems of a great many people."

"Yes. She will," Tywin sipped his wine.

"You haven't told her yet, have you?" Catelyn Stark said. It was a question and yet her tone said that she clearly knew the answer.

"I'm surprised _you_ didn't tell her," Tywin said. "Since you told your son."

"He was wondering where the Lannisters would stand with the Targaryens if they took the throne because he worried for Arya, like me," Catelyn said. "I couldn't exactly lie to him."

Tywin made a non-committal sound of acknowledgement.

She circled around the small table to face him. "I recall you saying you would tell Arya once the Night King was defeated."

"And I will," Tywin said. His gaze found Arya in the crowd again. She was being rather surrounded by a group of ladies, likely questioning her to see if the rumors about her deeds in the Long Night were true. She was flustered, yes, yet also pleased. Arya was not immune to praise. She never had been. "Now doesn't seem the proper time."

"I don't think there ever will be a proper time," Catelyn said. "But you know that if it is a surprise, she will act recklessly."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that," Tywin said. "She proved that when she threw herself directly at the Night King."

Catelyn's mouth twitched into a small smile-one of pride and affection for her daughter. "She was proving it a long time before that."

Yes. She had. And Tywin knew that he had an exceedingly difficult task set before him. Not just telling Arya the truth. He did not look forward to the discussion in the least, of course. But telling her the truth would be quite a minor feat compared to what came next: convincing her to do nothing.

Arya was not the sort who stood by and did nothing. But for peace to come, she must. There was no other option.

* * *

The celebration at King's Landing felt much more like a party than the meager festivities at Harrenhal following the Long Night. Enough time had passed that things had begun to settle and there were plenty of guests here who had been far away from the battle. The dead were buried, the fighting was a memory, and now they joined together for a bit of fun. At this celebration there was a great deal more food and fine wine and in the center of the great hall, people danced to the music of a few famous King's landing performers. Sansa had always loved to dance and sing while Arya had been less musical, but she did not mind watching from afar.

Not that she had much time. Arya was torn between being delighted and dazed for the entirety of the gathering. To have so many lords and ladies approach her wondering after her deeds in battle and her skill with a blade-it was truly flattering. Almost none of them spoke ill of the fact that she was a lady fighting in the battles of men. How could they when she had, perhaps, saved them all from an extended Long Night?

And yet their attention was overwhelming for Arya, especially after she had worked hard at going unnoticed in the courts after all of these years. She put on a smile and remembered her courtesies though she truly wanted to find an exit at the nearest opportunity.

On rare occasions, Arya was able to spend some time with those that she knew. She managed a nearly full conversation with Sansa and Willas in the corner about Sansa's progressing pregnancy before she was swept away into yet another circle of young ladies who had not yet had the chance to interrogate her. Sansa only smiled when it happened and made no move to help her. The traitor.

Soon after, Arya extracted herself from the group and turned, nearly running straight into Oberyn Martell.

"Lady Arya," Oberyn said, resting a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "We haven't had a chance to speak all night."

"That's because I am suddenly popular," Arya said.

"For your heroic deeds, no doubt. I've heard the tale already many times," Oberyn said. "I'd ask to hear it from you but I think you may be tired of telling it."

"Yes," Arya said. "Exhausted."

"Then perhaps you would join me for a dance?" Oberyn extended his hand. "You have not gotten a chance all night."

"I actually don't know how to dance very well," Arya said. "I've managed to avoid it for most of my life."

"Maybe you have, but it will give you a rest from all of this attention," Oberyn pointed out.

He made an excellent point. Conversation was beginning to exhaust Arya more than the Long Night itself. "On second thought, yes, I would love to dance."

Ultimately, dancing was not hard at all for someone who had practiced the Bravvosi style of fighting. It was mostly footwork and Arya excelled at that. The places where she didn't excel, she let her partner guide her through. He was very adept himself. And dancing here gave them a chance to talk without interruption.

"I did not see you the entire battle," Arya said. "How did your people fare?"

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "So you are permitted to not talk about your battle but I must talk about mine?"

"People have not been swamping you all night to hear about it," Arya reminded him.

"You don't know that. I could be very popular."

"By all means, don't tell me. I was just curious."

Oberyn smirked and shook his head. "The southern wall was quiet at first, until the dragon came. I was lucky to avoid its fire. Wights started making their way over the wall toward the end of it. But then most of them ran off. Following you across the lake." He spun them both around. "I saw you in that boat. I didn't know it was you at the time of course since you were so far away. But I thank you for leading some of the dead off."

"Of course," Arya said. "It was something...to see dragons fighting in the sky, wasn't it?"

"Like something out of the histories we used to read," Oberyn said. "And how will you feel about a dragon on the throne again?"

Arya glanced around as they passed between a few other couples. "You should keep your voice down about that you know."

"Why? Most of them know it in the back of their minds. Rulers with dragons do not simply surrender crowns. But Daenerys presence here means that it will be peaceful, so they're not panicking." Oberyn studied her. "My question stands."

"She fought well in the battle," Arya said. "And she has been helping a great deal with the recovery. I'm sure she'll make a better ruler than most of our last kings."

"Which isn't saying much," Oberyn said. "You're not concerned?"

"For what? Myself?" Arya laughed once. "I may be both Lannister and Stark but I also killed the Night King. I doubt Daenerys means me any ill will."

"No, no," Oberyn said. "I know for certain that she does not. I simply wondered if others in your family might try to fight against her rise to the thrones."

"If they planned on it, I wouldn't tell you, would I?" Arya asked. Oberyn shrugged as if conceding the point. "If you think my father in law will make war, you're wrong. He's as tired of the fighting as anyone else."

"And you?" Oberyn asked. "Are you tired of fighting as well?"

"I've been tired of fighting for years," Arya said. "I've almost stopped noticing."

Something moved out of the corner of Arya's eye and she looked up to see Jaime approaching them as the song drew to a close.

"Ah, Ser Jaime," Oberyn said. "Enjoying the festivities?"

"Well enough," Jaime said with a cordial but slightly steely smile. "May I steal my wife back for this next dance?"

"Yes, if she wants to be stolen," Oberyn said with a smirk.

"I'm not sure it's stealing if I go with him willingly," Arya pointed out.

"I suppose not." Oberyn gave her a slight spin so that she almost stumbled into Jaime. Then he gave a slight bow. "Thank you for the dance, Lady Arya."

She gave him a nod, then turned back to Jaime. "I didn't know you danced."

"I didn't know you did either," Jaime said, pulling her into position as the next song began. "I'm not sure I've ever seen you dance."

"I just wanted an excuse to avoid any more questions," Arya admitted, falling into step with him.

"Well, if that's your aim, I can gladly keep you dancing for the next few hours," Jaime said. "You'll have to talk to me, but it might be preferable."

"It's a difficult decision." Arya smirked. "I'll have to give it some thought."

"Good idea. Best not to be too rash," Jaime said. "You make a habit of that sometimes."

Arya sighed. "Spoken to your father recently, have you?"

"Why? Did he call you rash? I can't imagine why."

Arya kicked Jaime's foot as they spun around. "I believe my rash actions did Westeros a great deal of good."

"Oh I agree with that of course," Jaime said. "But that doesn't make them any less reckless."

"Did you have a more sensible plan?"

"I didn't have any plan at all. I was fighting desperately to stay alive."

"Exactly. So you don't get to complain."

Jaime was quite a good dancer as wellbeing light on his feet, and Arya found him an easy partner. Maybe it was because she was already so familiar with his movements. They sparred together often so why should they not dance? Arya was glad to be with him in that moment. She greatly preferred his company to that of strangers.

When the song ended, Jaime guided her off the floor and out into the garden, which was a bit less crowded now that the chill of the night had set in. It also made it harder to see their faces if they stayed out of the firelight so less people noticed Arya. They sipped wine off in a corner and spoke of their strangest encounters during the party.

The war had been hard and the recovery process had awhile yet to go. But Arya was beginning to settle into this new peace which she had long waited for.

* * *

Tyrion was pleased with Daenerys place at the gathering of King's Landing. She was doing a fine job with the lords and ladies now that they had softened to her and he could see her winning their hearts from afar. Not that he doubted she would. He himself had been cynical of her intentions and abilities before they had spoken and she had ultimately won him over. Charm was one of her many qualities, and she would need it to encourage people to bow to a Targaryen once again. Dragons would intimidate most into bending the knee but it was better to be loved than feared.

 _Not that father would agree,_ Tyrion thought.

He internally cursed himself, draining the rest of the wine in his goblet. This was meant to be a celebration and his thoughts kept moving, unbidden, to his father. He had been cooperating with Daenerys in the recovery, and it seemed that his arrangement with her still stood. There was no indication that he would betray her. And yet...

And yet Tyrion couldn't imagine his father standing trial or facing execution.

Dying always seemed like something other men did. Yes, of course death came for all, but Tywin often seemed to stand apart from mere mortal men. Whenever Tyrion thought about him dying...well his thoughts changed depending on the day.

Often, throughout his life, he thought he might be happy when his father passed on. They had never had a good relationship. It would feel freeing, he thought, to finally be rid of his scrutiny and high expectations. But then, Tyrion didn't really want him _dead_. He wanted to beat him. To surpass him in some way. By becoming Daenerys hand, it seemed he finally had a chance to do that.

And then Tywin had agreed to give himself up. Just like that. And maybe that was a victory for Tyrion but it did not feel like one. Somehow, it still felt like his father had won. He had taken his life and death into his own hands and set the board exactly the way he wanted it before he went.

Tyrion hated him and didn't all the same...which he supposed was not an unusual way for a son to feel about their father.

He finished another goblet of wine and felt his mind fuzz just enough to muddle his thoughts. But just as he had begun to stop thinking about his father, he passed into the garden and found him standing off to the side, alone next to one of the fires. Tyrion thought about continuing on and ignoring him but they made eye contact for just long enough that he couldn't do that. It would look too much like a retreat.

"I'm surprised you agreed to this gathering," Tyrion said. "You've never seen the value of fun."

"You've always placed too much value in it," Tywin said.

"Ah. Yes. That's exactly what I'd expect you to say." Tyrion pointed at him. "You haven't been insulting me near enough lately. It doesn't feel right. It makes things more difficult."

"Does it?" Tywin asked. "In what way?"

Tyrion didn't answer. He simply stepped into the light of the fire. "It must be strange for you...given that you're about to leave all of this." He shifted from foot to foot. "Its strange for me. Because you know, I really shouldn't care much. Not after everything you've said to me. Not after everything you've done. I don't think you deserve to go on your own terms either. But of course you are. You always find a way to do everything on your own terms."

The alcohol gave him a certain amount of bravery. Liquid courage. He always needed it, speaking to his father. And he wouldn't be speaking to his father for much longer.

"If you didn't want me to go on my own terms, I suppose you could have let that wight kill me," Tywin said.

It surprised Tyrion to hear him acknowledge that moment. He barely acknowledged it. It hadn't been intentional. Just this...instinctual thing he did. "Yes... I suppose I could have. Why didn't I think of that?"

There was silence between them for a long moment. Tyrion half hoped that Tywin would fill it with an insult of some sort in order to make Tyrion feel less...less... well, he just wanted to feel less about it in general. When Tywin did not acquiesce, he kept talking.

"But you must be worried to leave now," Tyrion said. "Not about Arya of course. She will handle herself and Jaime I assume. But leaving me as Hand of the Queen. That can't be what you wanted."

"I'm not particularly concerned," Tywin said. "I managed Aerys well enough. You'll manage his daughter. You're my son."

Tyrion's breath caught for a moment and he cursed the wave of emotion that rolled through him in that moment. That was _not_ meant to be his father's response. His voice was flat as usual, almost disinterested, but the words were not and Tyrion didn't know how to process it.

Approval of any sort was such a rare thing from his father. Rarer still was his father audibly claiming him as a son. He had done it before, though usually only when he was trying to get something from Tyrion or shame him for his actions. This was different. It wasn't what most would judge as fatherly affection, but for Tyrion it was more than he had ever hoped for in his life.

Tyrion swallowed hard, raising his goblet in a sort of toast. "To a lion playing hand to a dragon once more."

Tywin raised his goblet just a fraction and the simple acknowledgement from him made Tyrion's chest ache.

 _I should not be so weak to his approval after all of this time,_ Tyrion thought. _And yet here I am. And there is no joy to be found in his end at all._

* * *

When the celebrating had begun to die and the Hour of the Wolf arrived, Jaime and Arya made their escape from the room and hurried back to their chambers, laughing all the way. Arya had drunk just enough wine to settle her nerves and to make her laugh a little easier than she usually would, but not enough to dull her mind or make her stumble. Jaime, to his credit, only stumbled once on the way back to their room.

 _Their_ room. For a while it had just been Arya's room and she had slept in the bed alone. It was far too large a bed for her and she often found herself tossing and turning in the night. But in the moons after their wedding, they had shared the bed and Arya had slept peacefully. That all felt like a lifetime ago. They had been married for well over a year now. It was a strange thought.

Jaime seemed to think of the same thing as he stepped into the room. "Can you believe how long ago we wed? Years and years ago I think."

"Or somewhere between one and two years," Arya said. "Closer to two now."

"A lot can happen in a year," Jaime sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "How many times did you almost die in that short span of time do you think?"

"Only three," Arya said. "Well...there may have been a few other close calls during the Long Night that I don't remember."

"You never do remember every brush with death in a battle," Jaime said. "Honestly, it's best not to think of them."

"Then I won't," Arya decided. "Why should I? Death is like an old friend to me. I keep meeting him every few months and asking him how he's been."

Jaime laughed. "Perhaps you could meet him a little less?"

"Why, are you jealous?"

"Yes. He keeps trying to steal my wife away. And I think he's a bad influence on her."

Arya snickered, spinning and pacing over to the mirror. She needed some of these infernal pins out of her hair. Margaery had helped her with it and while it had stayed in place all through the night, the metal was beginning to dig into Arya's skull. "Well, if you insist, I suppose I can visit him less."

"I do insist," Jaime said. "I'm sure father would insist too. You're going to give him a heart attack you know."

"He should be used to it by now," Arya tossed a few pins into a small dish. Already her head was beginning to feel less heavy. Long hair was so much harder to manage, she found, but she couldn't help but wonder if a small knife could be hidden within her curls for desperate circumstances.

"Probably," Jaime sighed. "You...did worry him though. After the Night King."

Arya's fingers paused in their work. "I know."

"You worried me too."

She exhaled, looking at her reflection in the mirror. The Night King's handprint was still clear on her pale skin. She had a sense that it may never go away. "I know. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. You saved us that night." Jaime rose from the bed, crossing over to her. She saw his reflection in the mirror behind her. She was surprised as he began to pluck some of the pins she had missed from her hair. "You saved me specifically. Or your wolf did. I assumed you were somewhat involved."

"I was," Arya said softly.

"Thank you," Jaime said. He removed the last few pins and her tangled hair tumbled to her shoulders. "It would have been easy for you to let me die."

Arya turned to face him. "I don't want you dead, Jaime. You know I don't."

Jaime gave her a sad smile. "That promise we made to each other before the war... does it still stand?"

"That if we lived we would call our pasts even?" Arya murmured.

"Yes...and try to live with each other," Jaime said, brushing her tangled curls to the side. "We're both alive, so I wondered."

Arya nodded once, aware of how close Jaime was to her. "I think I can learn to live with you well enough." Her eyes sparked with mischief. "Though you never know when death might catch my fancy again."

He let out a low chuckle and bent lower, drawing her lips to his. She kissed him in return, entwining her arms around the back of his neck. She wondered, for a moment, if the wine was still affecting her, but while her nerves were settled, her mind was clear. And she did not want to stop. Not as he deepened the kiss. Not as his one hand traced down the curve of her waist. Not as he stumbled backward, drawing her with him, in the direction of their marriage bed.

It was something that for such a long time, Arya had dreaded, and perhaps part of her still did. But Jaime was so familiar to her, even though the act itself was not. They had laid their secrets bare now and had nothing more to hide. And since both of them had so nearly escaped death, it seemed only natural to celebrate it.

It had been a year and several moons since they had wed. But that night they finally used their marriage bed for its proper purpose.

* * *

 _ **A/N: *jazz hands* Yay. Nothing too explicit cause this isn't rated M but it did, indeed, 101 chapter in, happen.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoyed a less sad chapter because next chapter is when a certain arrangement gets revealed and as you can guess, its going to cause a few emotions.**_

 _ **As always, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	102. Chapter 102: Again

_**A/N: Hope you're all ready for some depressing scenes in today's chapter! But hey, it starts with something happy and content ;) Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 102: Again**

Arya slept better than she had in many moons. The bed felt softer and her body lighter. The nightmares of the Night King and her near death, which had plagued her intermittently ever since the battle, did not find her in the midst of sleep.

When she woke, the sun was streaming through the window. It was the first clear morning in some time, though she suspected it was still quite cold. It was nice to feel the smallest bit of warmth on her skin. She shifted under the covers, turning over to see Jaime lying beside her, facing away. His breathing was slow and steady so she could tell he was still asleep.

Memories of the previous night came drifting back to her like leaves on a slow stream. The awkwardness and familiarity. The joy and desperation that passed between their lips. She remembered the feeling of his hand against her bare skin and his hair entwined with her three right fingers. She let her fingers drift through his hair now, gently passing through a few golden tangles.

He had been kind to her, which she had expected. But he did not treat her like she was delicate, which Arya would have taken as something of an insult. Like sparring, there was an even push and pull between them. A dance between two people who knew each other like the back of their two and a half hands. They knew each other's callouses and scars and expressions like a well-studied map. And on that morning after, Arya was surprised to find herself...content.

Jaime shifted a bit as her fingers brushed against the back of his neck, and he turned to face her, catching her hand before she could pull it away and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Better than usual," Arya murmured. She felt warmth press at her neck and cheeks when he looked at her like that. "You?"

"The same," Jaime said. "I think I've missed this bed."

"Will we have to bring it with us when we go to Casterly Rock?" Arya's mouth twitched.

"No, no. I think the company will make up for it," Jaime said with a little smirk.

Arya laughed once, leaning forward and burying her face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. It felt nice to be close to him in the aftermath, and she found herself thanking gods she no longer worshiped that they had both survived the Long Night.

They stayed like that for a long while, holding each other close. Then Jaime reminded her that the festivities would continue throughout the day and that they should make an appearance before it grew too late. Arya reluctantly agreed and she rose to dress in something comfortable. She took some time to brush through her hair, which was exceptionally tangled.

"This is your fault," she told Jaime, as she worked at a mess of tangles.

"I'm reasonably sure you helped," he said as he buttoned his tunic.

"It was mostly you then." She sighed, jerking her brush through one snag. "Maybe I should use this as an excuse to cut it all off."

"I did not know you were one to surrender so easily," he said.

She glared at him over her shoulder, and he chuckled, crossing to her and placing a kiss on her forehead. It softened Arya's expression almost at once and she cursed herself for it. She really did not want to endure any more strangers questioning her about the Long Night. She would much rather stay here with him.

But when she finished combing through the last tangle and sliding a few simple pins into her hair, she knew she had no choice. Jaime extended a hand to her and she accepted it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

It was time to face the outside world again.

* * *

The morning was not so difficult as the night before. Many of the lords and ladies were still asleep in their rooms from the previous night's festivities. In addition they were scattered all throughout the keep, meaning that there were less crowds. That did not excuse Arya from socializing, but it was a bit less overwhelming.

Tyrion found them around the noon meal and invited them both to step away from the crowds for a bit and dine with him in his room. Lunching with the Hand of the Queen seemed a sufficiently reasonable excuse to escape the crowds, and Arya thanked him for providing it. They stayed long after their plates were cleared because Tyrion demanded a long overdue game of Cyvasse.

"I want to see if you've improved at all since we last met," Tyrion said. "Since apparently you've kept up your practice against my father."

Jaime gave Arya a look. "You never told me you convinced father to _play_ a _game_."

"It wasn't that often," Arya said. "And it's been moons since I last played. I'm sure I'm extremely rusty."

She was right about that. Tyrion beat her in the first two games with relative ease. His skills clearly had not dulled at all and he seemed pleased with himself. When Jaime smirked after Tyrion's second victory, Arya shot him a glare.

"Perhaps you would like to play a game, dear husband," Arya said.

"Oh no, I would not," Jaime said. "I only played Tyrion a few times and he beat me embarrassingly quickly."

"Well, practice makes perfect," Arya said. "I didn't take you for a coward."

That was how she ended up playing a game of Cyvasse against Jaime for the first time. And she did beat him easily. He was far too straight forward in his strategies and it was easy for Arya to set traps with him with her pieces. He didn't seem particularly sad to lose though.

"I told you," he said. "Not my strong suit."

"You'll have to practice with me more," Arya said. "It helps with developing strategies. That's how I got your father to play it. I gave him a logical reason."

"Ah yes. The way to father's heart," Tyrion said.

"That and _being_ Arya," Jaime said. "She can convince him to do anything."

"That's definitely not true," Arya said. "I couldn't convince him to let me remain unwed, could I? Or to do anything else that would threaten the legacy."

"True enough," Jaime said, a teasing smile crossing over his face. "Are you regretting this match now?"

Arya felt heat rising to her cheeks. "Yes. You are exceedingly irritating."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "Did you two have fun last night?"

"No," Arya said, too quickly to be convincing. "Tyrion, it's your turn to play Jaime."

Tyrion smirked but obeyed, switching places with her and setting the board once again. Predictably, Tyrion found Jaime to be easy prey in the game, though he did not claim it was because of skill. "Arya and I are both playing with the lucky piece you see." He held up the king with the cracked crown. "It helps us to win."

"That's true. It has nothing to do with anything else," Arya said. She had only just now realized that they were playing with the same Cyvasse board which Tyrion had left her before he went across the sea. That in and of itself was not strange. But Arya knew she had left the board in the Tower of the Hand, which meant that Tyrion must have been there. "Where did you get the board, Tyrion?"

"Oh. I was meeting with Father this morning," Tyrion said. "I asked if I could take it with me and he allowed it."

"You met with him. Really? And in the middle of a party no less," Jaime said, rolling one of the dragon pieces in his hand. "Business couldn't wait?"

"Unfortunately not," Tyrion said. "Margaery is holding court tomorrow. She is going to give the crown over to Daenerys then and the lords and ladies of Westeros will bow to her."

Arya sighed. She had figured it would happen soon now. That would put Tyrion as Hand of the King instead of Tywin. It must be strange for Tywin to be turning such a position over to the son he banished, but it was the only way to maintain the peace.

"It will be strange to see a Targaryen back on the throne," Jaime said. "Like stepping back in time."

"If your father is to be believed, there won't be much change," Arya said, leaning forward and plucking the broken king from the board. "He said Daenerys is willing to forgive most everyone and is committed to peace."

Tyrion did not reply. In fact, he looked suddenly stiff and nervous, as if he had stumbled into a topic of conversation he very much wanted to avoid.

"Tyrion?" Arya's brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he murmured. "It's nothing."

"You're lying," Arya said. "Is something else going to happen tomorrow? Once Daenerys takes the throne. Does she have other plans?"

"If...he hasn't told you yet, I'm not going to," Tyrion murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Who? Father?" Jaime asked. "What hasn't he told us?"

"Nothing," Tyrion said, rising from his seat and pacing away. "This isn't for me to tell. I'm sure he was waiting with reason."

"Waiting for what?" Arya asked, feeling dread build in her gut. Tywin was keeping something from them. Something that was going to happen at court tomorrow. Something beyond Daenerys becoming queen. And the fact that _Tyrion_ knew but not Jaime or Arya was even more concerning. "Tyrion, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Tyrion muttered. "Just an arrangement for the future. Once Daenerys takes the throne...well, not everything can remain as it was."

"What is she planning?" Jaime asked. "What are _you_ planning, Tyrion? And what does it have to do with father?"

"It was not his plan."

Arya turned to see Tywin standing in the doorway, his expression deathly serious. He was always grim but this time...this time was different. She found herself gripping the broken king tight in her hand, digging the cracked crown into her palm.

"I offered the arrangement in order to ensure peace" Tywin said. "Tyrion only delivered the message to his queen."

"And what _was_ the arrangement?" Arya asked softly.

For a moment, he did not reply, and that small hesitation made her heart drop into her stomach. Part of her did not want to hear this answer. Part of her _needed_ to know.

"Tomorrow, Margaery will hold court and give the crown to Daenerys," Tywin said. "The dragon queen will accept fealty from all of the lords and ladies, even those from families who fought against hers. She will accept the same from Jaime and pardon him for killing her father and she will make him warden of the west." He paused for a moment, searching for the proper words. "But this was only possible because I offered to stand trial for the deaths of her other kin. I will undoubtedly be found guilty. She cannot be seen to forgive everyone after all."

Arya's body went cold. If Tywin was found guilty he would be executed. She had not even considered that possibility. Daenerys and Tywin had been working closely and seemed aligned. And yet...

"You'll die," Jaime said. "That's what you're saying. Once you're found guilty you..."

"Yes," Tywin said. "I will die."

"And you think I will kneel to the queen after she arrests you?" Jaime asked.

"You will. Declaring war would be foolish."

"Perhaps. And how will the people view a son who does not stand for his father?"

"It does not matter how they see you, Jaime. It matters that you maintain the Lannister name and legacy," Tywin said. "This was the only way to ensure it."

"Daenerys would have had no choice but to bring him to trial one way or another," Tyrion spoke up. His voice was softer and uncertain as he stood between Tywin and Jaime. "It was how she formed the alliance with the Martells. Father suspected as much and used her fear of causing a war to ensure that you and Arya would keep Casterly Rock. And he promised Daenerys the peace that she so desperately wanted. War between us now...it would be devastating."

"So he helps her keep the peace and transition to the throne and this is how she repays him?" Jaime snapped. " _Hang_ what the Dornish want. Hang what your queen wants as well."

"She's not doing this out of vengeance or hatred. She cannot be queen if she does not keep her promises," Tyrion said. "The people would see her as weak from the start if she did not address the fall of her family. Her willingness to pardon you is remarkable enough."

"If she promised the Dornish to kill our father then _why_ are you still her hand?" Jaime asked. "Why in the seven hells-"

"I don't _like_ it any more than you do, Jaime," Tyrion cut him off, fury burning in his eyes. "It's just the way things _are._ Would you rather I surrender the position of Hand? What use would I be then? I'm the only reason she agreed to deal diplomatically with our family at all."

Jaime fell silent, because he knew he was right, and he was not truly mad at Tyrion for this. Tyrion was just trying his best to keep his family alive and keep the country at peace. Arya knew that as well as him. But this _could not_ be the only solution.

"It's done," Tywin said. "The deal was struck long ago. I kept it between a few people because I knew you could not afford to be distracted during the Long Night."

Arya shivered. _One more war,_ he had said. _One more war and then I can rest._ He had known all of this time but he did not trust her with the truth. That hurt her nearly as much as the truth itself. She wanted to scream at him just then but she did not trust herself to speak.

Jaime's left hand clenched into a fist. "I don't think I told you why I killed the Mad King. You never really asked. There were a lot of reasons I suppose. He was a danger to every person in the seven kingdoms. But he was a danger to you as well. He ordered me to bring me your _head_." Jaime swallowed hard. "And now you're asking me to stand by and let his daughter finish the job?"

The muscles in Tywin's jaw tightened but his expression remained hard. "I'm not asking, Jaime. I'm telling. This is the only way to keep the Lannisters in power. It was the only way for you to keep your titles or Casterly Rock."

"I never wanted those things. Father-" Jaime's voice cracked and he stopped himself. His expression went from desperation to defeat as he seemed to register the determination in Tywin's eyes. "Why am I arguing with you? It's never done me any good, has it? You do what you want without asking for anyone else's opinion. You've even chosen the manner of your death. That shouldn't surprise me." He shook his head. "Fine then. Do as you wish. That's what you've always done. Why should you listen to anyone now?"

Then, without waiting for a reply, Jaime stormed from the room. Tyrion glanced between Arya and Tywin before letting out a heavy breath and following after his brother.

Arya was left alone in the room with Tywin unsure how to verbalize the well of feelings bubbling up inside of her. Shock, hurt, anger, fear...all of it swirled together and she couldn't...she didn't know how to...

"You can't do this," she whispered at last. "You can't give yourself over to her."

"It's the cost of peace," Tywin said.

"Then that cost is too high. I don't want it," Arya said. "If it comes to another war...I don't care. What's one more battle? I survived the Night King; you think I can't survive dragons?"

"I'm not going to give you another chance to throw yourself into the jaws of death," Tywin said firmly. "This time, you may not come back."

"So I'm not allowed to throw myself into the jaws of death but _you_ are?" Arya stood from her seat, feeling anger burn through her. He had been so furious at her for almost dying. Worried. How could he expect her to not feel the same?

"It isn't the same thing," Tywin said. "I am not the future of House Lannister."

Arya stood from her seat. "Well what about...what about a trial by combat?"

"No," Tywin said.

"It may just be a contest of the best fighter, but it _is_ considered a legitimate trial in the light of the Seven," Arya said. "If your champion won, Daenerys would have to clear you."

"I said, no," Tywin said. "I already know that you would volunteer, Arya. And you _know_ who you would be facing if you did."

"Oberyn Martell," Arya said. "I've sparred with him before. I know how he fights."

"Sparring isn't fighting. He wasn't trying to kill you any of those times."

"I wasn't trying to kill him either."

"You are not going to fight Oberyn Martell," Tywin said. "He's a gifted fighter and a great deal more experienced than you. Perhaps he has a fondness for you but that will not last if you stand in between him and his vengeance. If you did manage to kill him, it would only create further tensions between Dorne and Westeros and make the peace tentative from the start. Perhaps you could win. But I'm not willing to risk it."

"But Daenerys...Daenerys isn't the only option here," Arya said. She was getting desperate as he cut through each of her arguments. He had prepared for this. He had already guessed what she would say and prepared to counter her. So she had to find an argument he hadn't prepared for. "My brother Jon rode one of her dragons. The green one. He told Daenerys it was only because Bran warged into his mind but that's not the whole truth. Jon is a Targaryen. He's the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and my aunt Lyanna Stark."

She expected shock from him. At least some flash of surprise. But the information did not look like news to him at all. "Yes. He is. He actually resembles his father a great deal. I just could not place his face for the longest time. Not until I heard the rumors about him flying on dragon back." He raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought your father never told lies."

"He told this one because the truth was too dangerous to know. But you _see,_ don't you?" Arya asked. "He has more claim to the throne than Daenerys does."

"A bastard son has a tentative claim at best," Tywin said.

"He's not a bastard," Arya said. "Rhaegar had his previous marriage annulled and married my aunt in a secret ceremony. Jon is legitimate."

"And do you have a record of this?" Tywin asked. "I imagine your younger brother told you the truth...but he isn't exactly here to confirm it anymore."

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't have a record or proof. She was sure there was something somewhere, but she did not have it.

"It wouldn't matter even if you had evidence. No one's loyalties will change," Tywin said. "Daenerys Targaryen would not step aside for her secret nephew. The Dornish will not acknowledge the child of a marriage that set Elia Martell aside. The Greyjoys won't care. Neither will the Unsullied, who in large part survived the Long Night holding the Twins, or the Dothraki, who still have thousands of survivors. They will all continue to back their queen and it will come to a war. You know this."

Yes, Arya did know this. Hadn't she just spoken with her family about this a few moons before? They had agreed to keep Jon's identity a secret and wait until opportune moment. But that was before...

That was before Tywin had agreed to sacrifice himself.

"Your brother would find support as king," Tywin admitted. "He's a man, which helps his case with most of the lords. And he comes from two great family lines. But a war with just cause means nothing if it fails. The Lannister family would fail. The Stark family would fail. Do you want to see everything you care about turn to ash?"

"No, I don't. But you don't know that will happen. You don't _know-_ "

"I _do_ know," Tywin's voice raised. "So do you. Why are you so insistent on pressing this point?"

"Because I don't want to watch you die," Arya snapped. "I _can't_ do this again!"

 _Again._

It was that 'again' that hung in the air between them as a silence fell. Arya hadn't even registered it until it had slipped from her mouth.

 _Again._

She couldn't do _what_ again? It was not as if she had lost Tywin. She had lost two brothers and she had lost friends. She had nearly lost herself on more than one occasion. But not to execution. The last time she watched an execution...the last time...

 _I can't do this again._

She remembered the last execution which she had attended. She remembered standing in the crowd, looking up at her father as he knelt beneath his own great sword. Though his face was a shadow in her mind now, so many other feelings about that day were clear. Imagining that same scene again...imagining Tywin kneeling at the sept of Baelor...

 _I can't do this again._

Tywin was silent as he stared at her. He had seemed to register what she had said as well and it was one of the only times she had seen him truly caught off guard. He had prepared for many retorts from her. He had not planned for that.

Arya had never felt more exposed than in that seemingly endless silence. Emotions began to rise up in her throat, choking her, burning her eyes. She did not know what to say. She did not have a single thing to say.

So she fled. She backed away from him then turned and hurried from the room before the tears became more visible. She supposed she might have run down the hall if she was not worried about drawing attention. Instead she walked as fast as she could as her vision blurred.

She was not paying attention to where she was going and collided with someone as she turned the corner.

"Arya?"

Her mother. Panic sliced through Arya and she kept her eyes down turned as she muttered out an apology. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. I was just...headed back to my room."

"What's wrong?" her mother asked, because she was not deaf or blind and could obviously see that Arya was upset. She tried to shove it down and make it less obvious.

"Nothing is wrong," Arya said. Because nothing should be wrong. She should not be feeling this way. "I'm all right. I just..."

"Arya," her mother's voice softened and she felt her hands cupping her face. "Look at me."

Arya did. She looked up as a few tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Her mother brushed them away with her thumbs.

"Were you speaking with Lord Tywin just now?" Catelyn asked.

She knew. Arya realized in that moment, that her mother knew exactly why she was crying...and that made her feel more vulnerable than ever. The emotions welled in her chest and the tears with them. And she fell into her mother's arms, burying her face in her shoulder. Her mother did not ask questions. She did not demand why Arya was feeling this way. She simply wrapped her arms around her and held her close.

* * *

Jaime had not returned to their room, which Arya was glad for when she stepped through the door. Her emotions were too fresh for her to want to share them with anyone else. She was afraid to even show them to her mother, but she knew no amount of words could convince her to leave right then.

"How long have you known?" Arya asked.

"Since just before the Battle of Harrenhal," Catelyn said. "He did not offer the information. I guessed it when I questioned him about the future."

Arya sank onto the edge of her bed, running her hands through her hair. "I should have questioned him too. If I had, I would have figured it out. Then I might have had more time to plan a counter attack. Instead he tells me right before. It gives me no time to think of anything."

"I think that's exactly why he waited," Catelyn said. "Because he does not want you to think of anything."

Arya's jaw clenched and her fingers clenched in her hair, threatening to pull it out by its roots. "I just wanted to believe that for once-for one time in my life-everything might be fine. That if I killed the Night King, I could rest."

"You can still rest," Catelyn said.

"No I can't," Arya said. "I have to find a way to stop this. His arrest, his trial. I need to find some sort of solution. If I can't save one man then..."

 _Then nothing has changed. I'm as weak as I was then._

"You saved the country when you put a blade through the Night King," Catelyn said. "You cannot curse yourself if you cannot save one man. Especially a man who is willing to die."

"What did saving the country matter?" Arya mumbled. "I saved the country, yes. But I couldn't save Bran. And what did the last six years matter if at the end of it I'm still that helpless child standing in the crowd unable to do anything at all."

Catelyn sighed. It was a long deep sigh that spoke of the years she had spent in this world and the number of people she had lost. "I don't have an easy answer, Arya. I have a difficult answer, and I know it isn't one you want to hear." She knelt in front of her, taking her hands in hers and lowering them from her head. "You can't fight your way through everything. Not every problem can be handled with a blade. And that's not your fault. It's the way of the world."

"But I could...In a trial by combat if he just _let_ me, I could-"

"That isn't your job," Catelyn said. "Lord Tywin's actions brought him to this place. The only reason he must stand trial in the first place is because he is guilty. Unless you have reason to believe he isn't."

Arya had no reason to believe that. She knew with certainty that he had been behind the deaths of Elia Martell and her two young children and that it was right that he face justice for it. But it didn't matter. She had to...

"He's made his choice," Catelyn said. "I'd say it's an honorable thing...facing his crimes. But we know he's not doing to for honor."

"No," Arya muttered. "For his legacy. Like everything else. But his legacy could survive without him dying."

"Not without a war," Catelyn said. "And if it came to that...I know you Arya. You would blame yourself for every life lost. You've been doing that for such a long time, ever since your father died. But you don't need to do that anymore." She squeezed her hands. "You _can_ rest. You can stop fighting."

"I don't know if I know how to rest," Arya admitted. "It's been too long."

"You'll learn again," Catelyn said. "I know what he's asking you to do...and I know it's a terrible thing to ask. I never thought I would agree with Tywin Lannister on anything. But concerning you, we are aligned." She exhaled. "You have to stand down."

Arya let out a shuddering breath. Her mother was right. Tywin had been right too. If it came to war, she would lose so many more of her family in the carnage and keeps all across the country would burn. Maybe she would survive the fires, but if she did, she would blame herself for the ashes.

To avoid that awful future...she merely had to let one man die.

"This should not be so difficult," Arya muttered. "I shouldn't be concerned with him dying at all. I shouldn't...I don't understand why I am..."

"Arya, that's not your fault," Catelyn murmured, reaching up to brush Arya's hair from her face. "We don't choose what hurts us."

But wouldn't it be wonderful if she could choose? It would be such a relief for Arya to cast away the pain from her life and to forget the meaning behind each of her scars and terrible memories. If only for just a moment of relief from it all. And maybe if she could choose what hurt her, tomorrow would not be so difficult.

But she could not, and the hurt welled up inside of her again just thinking about the next day. She let out a shuddering breath.

"Would you like me to stay or go?" Catelyn asked.

"You can go," Arya murmured. She could hear the defeat in her own voice and she hated the sound. "I'd like to rest."

"I can make excuses for you," Catelyn said. "You don't have to endure anyone else today."

Arya nodded. If she by chance saw Daenerys Targaryen or Oberyn Martell in the crowd, she did not trust herself not to snap. She understood all of their reasons in the logical part of her brain. Daenerys need to seek justice to set an example as a ruler. Oberyn Martell's desire for vengeance for his family, which she would have also pursued in his shoes.

But it didn't matter. She was selfish. She wanted Tywin to live.

And she had no choice but to watch him die.

* * *

Tywin sat in silence in the Tower of the Hand, studying a bare piece of parchment on his desk. As always, there were many letters to write but that evening, he found it difficult to focus. It wasn't because of court tomorrow, in which Margaery would give the throne over to Daenerys Targaryen. It was a crucial day, of course, and Tywin knew very well he would be arrested before the end of it. But that did not make him nervous. He was prepared for that and had been for many moons now.

It was Arya's face and words that he could not banish from his mind. He honestly was not sure which was worse. Her furious eyes, unwittingly filled with tears or that last little sentence.

" _I can't do this again!"_

He was still trying to wrap his mind around those words, even though he understood their meaning the moment they left her mouth. He understood the 'what' but not the 'why' of them.

" _I can't do this again!"_

No. It was the _way_ she had said it which stuck in his mind. That desperate, cracked tone. She was a woman grown for two years and in that moment, she had sounded like a child.

Tywin knew if he gave her permission, she would not hesitate to fight on his behalf in a trial by combat. Seven hells, she would not hesitate to slip into the Dragon Queen's room and cut her throat. She might even fight a dragon. Why not? She had already slayed the Night King. She would do anything and everything to protect those she cared about, no matter the personal risk. It was the fact that she would do it _for him_ that he did not understand. But she would. He could see it in her eyes just then that she would.

And he could not let her do it.

The worry now was whether or not he could even stop her. She had grown beyond his orders some time ago, even though she hadn't quite realized it. He could refuse a trial by combat, but could he stop her from fighting a dragon?

He was mulling the question over when a knock came at the door. "Come in," he said, aware of the heaviness in his voice when he spoke.

The door cracked open and Catelyn Stark slipped through. A flash of annoyance went through him. Not because she was here but because she had been _right._ She told him that this would affect Arya and he had dismissed her concern. Because it just wasn't logical. The woman had not pressed the issue back at Harrenhal, but she had known then, with absolute certainty, that she was right.

And she had been.

"Have you seen your daughter lately?" Tywin asked at last. He would rather know where Arya was at that moment.

"Yes," Catelyn said. "She ran into me right after she left you."

Tywin rubbed a hand over his face. Of course she had. "And where is she now?"

"Her room." Catelyn stopped in front of the desk. "I think she will stay there for the rest of the night."

"I'm not sure of that," Tywin said. "It's not in her nature to stay put."

"I know that as well as you," Catelyn said. "She rarely surrenders. But that means...I know what it looks like when she does. She'll stay in her room."

There was a certainty in her voice. The same certainty Tywin had heard when she told him that Arya would care if he died. This time, he would not make the mistake of doubting it. Instead, he gestured to the seat in front of his desk, a silent invitation for her to sit.

"What did you tell her?"

"A hard truth which I learned a very long time ago," Catelyn replied, lowering herself into the chair. "That sometimes, there's nothing one can do but stand by and watch. And not every obstacle can be fought."

Tywin nodded once. "When did you learn that lesson?"

"When I was still little more than a child," Catelyn said. "I couldn't fight death away from my mother or my father years later. Or my two youngest sons. Or my husband. I was at three of their bedsides when they passed. I was far away from the other two. It didn't matter. Death takes what it pleases." She looked up at him. "And when did you learn the same lesson?"

Tywin drummed his fingers against the desk. He knew exactly when. "When Tyrion came into this world."

"How many years has it been then?" she asked, understanding what he meant without him having to say it."

"Over three decades," Tywin said. "A long time."

"It's been less than a decade for me. Since Ned I mean," Catelyn said. "And less than a decade for Arya since she lost her father. I know it's still fresh in her mind, as if it happened yesterday. I don't know if she told you...she was standing in the crowd the day they cut off his head."

" _I can't do this again."_

Tywin exhaled. "She told me once, I think. A long time ago."

"Hmm." Catelyn twisted one of her rings about her finger. "Convincing her to stand by during another execution wasn't easy."

"It isn't the same and you know it."

"No. Of course it's not. Arya knows that too. Logically anyway," Catelyn said. "And yet you saw how she reacted."

"I saw. I don't understand why."

Catelyn let out a heavy sigh. "I spent a long time trying to understand it. I never did come up with a perfect answer. Maybe because she was alone in this place...and you were there and she latched onto that. You couldn't be more different than Ned and she despised you. But you were there."

Yes. He was there. As different from Eddard Stark as he was, Tywin had somehow ended up taking in his daughter. He had adopted her into his family and pretended that it was only because it made strategic sense. She pretended the same. They had both been pretending for years because the truth was much harder to swallow or understand.

For a long moment, there was silence between them. Then Tywin looked up from the blank piece of parchment again. "I don't believe I thanked you."

"You're right," Catelyn said. "You haven't. But what are you thanking me for?"

It was a good question. He supposed there were many things for which he could thank her. Years ago, it was only her release of his son from captivity that gave him the grounds to negotiate with Robb Stark and end the conflict with the north. They had been in a tentative alliance ever since then and she had, more than once, been helpful in the many conflicts that plagued their families. She had even killed the wight of his brother when he, for a moment, froze. But that was not what he was thanking her for this time.

"Convincing Arya to stand down," Tywin said. "It seemed like an impossible task."

"You don't need to thank me for that," Catelyn said. "I'm protecting my daughter and what little family I have left. I did not do it for you."

"I know," Tywin said. "You have my gratitude none the less."

She sighed. "It's a strange thing isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Everything about this moment really," Catelyn said. "It's not something I would have imagined when we met six years ago."

"No doubt," Tywin said, remembering for a moment how much Catelyn Stark looked as if she wanted to strangle him back then. "Keep an eye on Arya tomorrow. During the court...she may have been convinced to stand down, but it will still be a trial for her."

"I'll keep close," Catelyn stood slowly from her seat and made her way back to the door. She paused as her hand rested on the handle. "This may be the last time we speak like this, Lord Tywin."

"That must be a relief to you, Lady Catelyn" Tywin said.

"It might be," Catelyn said. "If not for Arya. For her sake...it's more of a shame than a relief."

She did not wait for him to reply before she slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again and a strange guilt which gnawed at him from the inside out.

Tywin was not one to feel guilt or regret. He did not look back into the past and wonder what could have been, because it was a useless exercise. He was not afraid to die.

But for Arya's sake, yes...it was a shame.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Oof. Writing that reveal scene was rough. I mean, I enjoyed it, but it was rough. Lot of Arya's trauma rising up the surface which she didn't know was there. And Tywin felt feelings, which is ALWAYS exhausting for him.**_

 _ **Lot of you have been asking for a trial by combat and while yes, Arya certainly wants it, Tywin would have to ask for it and he wouldn't, to protect her. Not that a trial by combat wouldn't be rad! But also, Arya has a pretty high chance of losing it against someone like Oberyn. She does best when she has the element of surprise and can use her environment and Oberyn wouldn't give her that, considering he has much more experience.**_

 _ **And, naturally, Tywin did genuinely do the things he has been put to trial for, so it is deserved. We'll see what happens with that and if Arya is able to manage to help her replacement father figure at all.**_


	103. Chapter 103: Turning Tide

_**A/N: Welcome back everyone! I had to write a big old group scene in this passage BUT as some of you wanted, there's also a scene between Tyrion and Jaime at the beginning. For the feels. Hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 103: The Turning Tide**

Every child, at one point or another, saw their parents as both immortal and unimpeachable. It was in the first, simple years of life before one understood that every person in the world made mistakes and, eventually, died. Jaime's mother had taught him that parents were not immortal. His father taught him that parents were not impeachable.

But Jaime supposed he hadn't fully learned the lesson. His mother did not have time to reveal her flaws to him before she died. And his father...even after all of these years, it had seemed his father could not be killed. He seemed like the kind of person who could meet death and tell him 'no'.

How was he supposed to accept this then? How was he supposed to watch as his father walked toward arrest and execution and do nothing?

"Jaime." Tyrion had to run as best he could to keep up with his long strides. "Jaime. Please. Slow down."

"I don't want to talk," Jaime said. "Not to you or him. Both of you knew about this deal and didn't tell us."

"I know," Tyrion said. "Father didn't think it would be wise."

"And since when do you listen to father?" Jaime whipped around to face him. "You've made a sport of defying him for years. You became the Hand to a Targaryen for gods' sake. But when it comes to him planning his own death, you meekly accept." His jaw tightened. "Perhaps because this is what you've always wanted."

"I do _not_ want him dead," Tyrion snapped. "It wouldn't be so strange if I did. Not after how he's treated me all of these years. Belittling me, denying me a birthright that you didn't want, exiling me for a crime I didn't commit. Treating me like a monster for something I couldn't control. I _should_ want him dead." Tyrion stopped swallowing hard. "But I don't. Isn't that the most awful thing in the world? That after everything else he's still my father and I don't..." He shook his head. "I never expected this, Jaime. Truly. I didn't expect him to offer his life."

There was too much naked emotion in Tyrion's eyes for him to be lying. Jaime knew that. But still his remaining hand curled into a fist. "You suspected that Daenerys would put him to trial though, didn't you? That's what the Dornish wanted. What did you think would happen? That we would go to war?"

"Yes. I thought that would happen," Tyrion said. "Understand, that before the Dornish joined Daenerys, I thought I might be able to argue for father's life in some capacity. Exile perhaps. Or the Wall. But then the Dornish became one of her only Westerosi allies and she had to honor their one request. So yes. I thought it would come to war. We're lucky that Father found another way."

"By offering the life she would have taken anyway," Jaime ran a hand through his hair. "Do you still think she's a good queen?"

"I do," Tyrion said. "I don't pretend that she's perfect. She has a great deal to learn. But keeping promises to allies, seeking justice...these are qualities of a good ruler. It's just that it's personal for us. Personal feelings are the enemy of good politics."

"Now you're sounding like father," Jaime murmured.

Tyrion exhaled. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or irritated by that comment."

"Whichever you please. He was an effective Hand, even if he wasn't a good man." Jaime rubbed a hand over his face. "I know I can't stop him. I've never been able to stop him or convince him of anything once he made up his mind. I just wish..." he trailed off. He didn't know what he wished exactly. For an easy answer, perhaps. Or a kinder future.

Tyrion gave him a sad smile. "So do I."

* * *

Jaime returned to his room later that night after he spent a great deal of time aimlessly wandering the castle. Arya was there when he arrived, sitting on the window sill, staring absently out into the dark. He could tell by her eyes that she had been crying but had stopped some time ago.

She turned to look at him, her mouth opening just slightly as she tried to think of something to say. Nothing came.

It was a strange thing that she seemed as devastated by this news as Jaime. After all, she had begun her relationship with Tywin as a hostage. He had kept her from her family and forced her to marry into the Lannisters in order to further his legacy. And yet...

Well, he had never truly understood the connection between his father and Arya. Only that he cared about her and that she, despite all logic and reason, cared about him in return. Like a daughter cared for an imperfect father. And like Jaime, though she had known Tywin was not unimpeachable...she had not truly realized that one day he would die.

Jaime moved forward as she slipped off the window sill, drawing her into his arms and holding her close. She didn't cry. She just buried her face into his shoulder and clung to his tunic.

They didn't say a word because in that moment none of them seemed right.

* * *

Tywin did not sleep that night. He did not even return to his room. He stayed in the office of the Hand from dusk until dawn, attending to his affairs. Making sure that everything was in its proper place. He had always been a rather meticulous person and that trait came out in full force as the night wore on. Perhaps it was to distract himself from the next day. Perhaps he just didn't like the idea of leaving things out of order.

He first entered this office when he was in his twentieth year. A lifetime ago now. And he had served as Hand for three kings. Four if one counted Steffon and Queen Margaery. It was more than any other man could say.

So much had changed. So many kings had died. Tywin had outlived them all.

He was not afraid. That was not the word for the emotion in his chest. He was not sure it had a name. He did feel strangely calm, but it was not an easy calm. It was the kind of peace he imagined most men achieved when they accepted death as inevitable.

The hours passed slowly at times. Quickly at others. In the early morning, he found himself sitting at his desk, turning a quill in hand, knowing he had no more letters left to write. That was a strange thing.

When the sunlight filtered through the eastern windows, he sighed. It was almost time. Slowly he stood, surveying the room to make sure there were no more pressing matters to which to attend. Then he slipped off his pin of the Hand, placed it at the center of the desk, and left his office for the last time.

* * *

It was the most crowded Tywin had ever seen the throne room, except perhaps for during coronations. Every lord and lady and King's Landing wanted to know where their country would proceed from here. Surely many of them were nervous. After all, they knew that Daenerys had not just come to Westeros to help. She desired the throne. They wondered what would happen if she pressed for her right to rule the seven kingdoms. They wanted to know what would happen if Margaery or Tywin resisted.

Amongst the nervous crowds, Jon Snow looked especially out of place. He had donned some less northern garb, though he kept the dark colors of the Night's Watch which he had left. Ned Stark had been lucky that the boy was born with such northern features. How would he have hidden the child if he was born with silvery hair or violet eyes?

It was incredible to Tywin that Ned had managed to hide the child _at all_. Right under his best friend's nose. Perhaps that was why Tywin had not quickly recognized Rhaegar in Jon's solemn face. But after he heard of him riding a dragon (supposedly with the aid of his younger brother), it clicked in his mind. He was annoyed he had not seen it before. He had, at one point, known Rhaegar Targaryen rather well.

 _He would have made a good enough king,_ Tywin thought. _I hope his sister favors him more than her father._

He circled the room, approaching Jon where he stood up against the wall, away from most of the others. "Lord Snow."

Jon glanced sideways at him. "Lord Lannister...can I help you?"

"No. I just wanted to get a closer look at you." Tywin said. "You do look a great deal like your father."

"I have the northern features," Jon said.

"Yes, but that's not what you got from your father, is it?"

Jon caught the meaning in his tone and his eyes widened just slightly. He did not reply. He knew better in a large crowd.

"I knew him well," Tywin said. "I thought your face looked familiar when I first saw you. Now I know why."

"I'm just a bastard," Jon said.

"Not according to some," Tywin said. "But don't worry. I'm not asking you to claim your birthright here and now. That could start a war."

Jon's shoulders relaxed but only slightly. "I...hope to never claim my birthright. I don't want it. I wouldn't be able to manage it."

"Not without help," Tywin agreed. "I don't think your temperament suits the station. But it would make you better than some. The Mad King for instance. Anyone was a better choice than him."

Jon rubbed his hands together, as if he was cold, though Tywin knew that was not true. "I'll take your word for it."

"There are some worries about his child, naturally," Tywin said. "It's hard to tell now which way she will go. For a while, she may be fine. In a few decades...it's hard to say. Madness is a strange and sudden thing."

"I agree," Jon said. "But why are you telling me this?"

"I want to know that if some time in the distant future-despite any of your reservations- you might claim your birthright if it was the only option."

"The only option?" Jon asked.

"Yes."

"I'd hope not to live in a world where I was the only option," Jon said. "Last time I held a position of authority, my men murdered me."

"Room for improvement then," Tywin said. "Would you do it if your sister asked?"

He did not need to specify which sister. He knew exactly which one was closest to her brother and which one he would protect at all costs.

Jon's jaw tightened. "I will always stand with my family. My real family."

"Good," Tywin said. "That's all I wanted to know."

Jon, after all, was perhaps the most important piece Tywin was leaving on Arya's board. An impulsive player might reveal him too early in a desperate attempt to win the game. But no. Tywin knew he was in an unwinnable situation. Using a powerful piece like Jon would just waste a perfectly good strategy.

Better that Arya keep him close. Keep his identity in the back of her mind. Wait for the proper moment.

She would decide when that proper moment was. But she had shown him yesterday that she would not hesitate to put her brother on the throne if it was necessary. If she was willing to do that to save him, what more would she do to save her family from a dangerous ruler?

Perhaps that was why he felt such an odd sense of calm. If he was leaving his legacy in worse hands, he might force a war. But there was no need to be hasty when Arya was only just beginning her game.

* * *

Arya thought about not attending court, simply because she did not want to tempt herself into doing something stupid. But then, it would be weakness not to attend. And it was not as if Tywin's arrest was the only thing to occur. This was going to be a time of many changes-a meeting that the maesters of Old Town would write about with great interest for years to come.

Had a ruler every peacefully turned over his crown in the history of the realm? To a son perhaps, but to a rival faction? Arya could not think of any instances. She supposed Torrhen Stark had knelt to Aegon the conqueror some time ago for the good of his people. But that was only after several other families perished in the fires of the dragons.

If Margaery kept hold of her son's crown, the country would be doomed to another disastrous war. It was fortunate that she was willing to surrender.

It was fortunate that Tywin was willing to do the same.

She saw him in the crowd when she entered, stepping away from her brother's side. Jon looked a bit shaken from whatever he had said and Arya's eyes narrowed slightly as she made her way through the gallery to find him.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Tywin Lannister knows the truth," Jon said. "Did someone tell him?"

 _I did,_ Arya thought, but she told a slightly different truth. "He figured it out on his own. Flying on dragon back makes you a bit notable, Jon. And he did know your father."

"I'll have to avoid others who did," Jon said.

"It shouldn't be a difficult job," she said. "Most of them are dead."

And Tywin would soon be joining them if the trial proceeded as planned.

She looked for him again in the crowd and found him taking his place next to Jaime. They spoke to each other in low voices and though Jaime's expression was grim it was clear that he had accepted the plan. Tywin rested a brief hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Her mother's voice at her shoulder made her jump slightly. But she relaxed when she turned to face her. "I'm as well as I can be."

Her mother smiled softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. "If you need to hold onto something today, you can hold onto me. In lieu of a knife."

Arya let out a single laugh. "Thank you."

Nearly everyone of importance was here now, including representatives from the north to the south. The Starks, the Lannisters, the Greyjoys, the Tullys, the Tyrells, the Baratheons, the Martells. And the Targaryens. Daenerys stood with her own people, dressed in white gown which matched her hair. She was a vision for anyone to behold. She knew what was happening today though to most it would be a surprise, and she was prepared to make an impression.

Last of all to enter the room was Margaery. She was as much of a vision as Daenerys, dressed in a gown of green with golden flowers stitched along its hem. Her crown, a golden piece that resembled antlers, sat amongst her dark curls. When she entered the room quieted and turned to watch as she took a seat on the throne. It was usually the Lord Protector that would sit there, but it had become a common seat for Margaery whenever Tywin was away dealing with the Long Night and its aftermath.

She was graceful as ever, and if she was concerned at all about the day, she did not show it. Her expression was utterly serene.

"Many of you have come today," Margaery said. "I'm glad. The country has survived a seemingly insurmountable conflict. Without all of you providing resources and working together with friends and enemies...we would have no chance. This is the mark of a new age in Westeros. The winter isn't over, but hopefully it will be a peaceful one." She looked around. "It's in times like these, in the midst of Winter, when we must think about what is best for the country. And we can all agree that another war is not what is best."

There was a murmuring of agreement through the room and more than one lord glanced toward Daenerys who was standing calmly in the midst of her people.

"Certainly if a tyrant had crossed the waters, we would have no choice but to fight," Margaery said. "That is what honor demands. It is fortunate then that the woman who came to Westeros is not a tyrant. After all, she fought for the living and for the country as a whole when she could have easily waited on Dragonstone and let the dead crush us before taking the throne. She could have demanded the crown in exchange for her help. With dragons on her side, she had no need to be charitable. But she was none the less. She worked for the good of the country with no promise of a crown."

 _There was a promise,_ Arya thought. _Just not a guarantee._

Tywin had promised Daenerys a peaceful transition onto the throne in exchange for her help. But it was a deal struck behind closed doors and thus unknown to the world. And since very few knew the truth, Daenerys appeared a selfless hero to the masses.

She _was_ a hero. Trusting Tywin Lannister was a gamble, especially for her who did not know him. And Arya did believe she truly _wanted_ to help the people. But she was not completely altruistic.

How many more heroes in the books of Arya's childhood were the same? How many deals behind closed doors had allowed them to reach such heights? Tywin had told her once during their lessons to distrust how the maesters wrote about heroes and villains of history.

" _You can trust the events they recount. Who won. Who lost. How many died. But when they write about the people, doubt them at every turn. There are books that called Robert a good king because he was on the throne and we all know that wasn't true. Why shouldn't the great Targaryen kings have been painted in the same way?"_

Arya was beginning to understand that message now. She had no doubt that history would cast them all into simple roles of hero and villain with time. Soon enough it would forget everything about their real selves besides their names. And eventually even those might be lost.

"I've spoken with the Lord Protector at length about this matter," Margaery continued on. "My son is young and over a decade away from behind able to take on the throne. A regency is a volatile time and rarely do they last so long. So to avoid any further conflict which might strain our country to its breaking point...I think it best that the crown pass to Daenerys. The last Targaryen."

Now the murmuring in the court rose to a dull roar. Some concerned, some shocked, some angry. There were all sorts of reasons to call this rather unprecedented moment into question. Some would not want Daenerys on the throne because she was a Targaryen. Others because she was a woman. Others because...well both of those reasons. But then again, none of them wanted to fight an unwinnable war. None of them wanted to fight a dragon.

So while doubt rose up in the throne room, no one was bold enough to express loud dissent. Especially when even Tywin Lannister himself stood by and allowed it to happen. His expression was that of a man for whom everything was going exactly as planned. And Arya supposed it was.

Daenerys stepped forward from the crowd. She was shorter than most of those in attendance, but her presence filled the room. Every step was measured, her expression calm but gracious. Margaery stepped down from the throne as she approached, reaching out to take her hands. What a friendly smile she had on her face. No one would guess that she was anything but joyful to give up her crown.

"Forgive me. I do not believe my crown will suit you," Margaery said. "But I know that the crowns of your ancestors remain. You can choose which you will wear."

"You have my thanks, Lady Baratheon," Daenerys said, accepting Margaery's friendly gesture. "Truly. You are a good woman. The Stormlands will be lucky to have your leadership. And your son's leadership when he comes of age."

Margaery smiled and nodded. Then she stepped aside and gave Daenerys a clear path to the throne.

Daenerys looked upon the great chair, made from the swords of her family's enemies. She did not rush for it. That would not be queenly. Rather she took a deep breath and glided up the steps. The room held their breath as she did. They watched in silence as a Targaryen and lower herself onto the throne.

No one protested. No one stepped forward. No doubt they were thinking of the dragon just outside. They were thinking of Daenerys allies, standing about the room, eyeing possible dissenters. Others seemed to smile when they saw a Targaryen restored. For them, it was back to the way things were supposed to be-a sane Targaryen on the throne. All was right with the world.

"Lady Margaery was a wise ruler. I'm sure she will raise her son to be just as wise," Daenerys said. "For that reason, I name Steffon Baratheon my heir, as I currently have none of my own."

That seemed to pacify some of the crowd. Daenerys willingness to recognize the boy in such a way and guarantee some sort of line of succession calmed them. And it once again showed how gracious she was. Not grabbing for the throne. Not clutching at power and casting down the previous rulers.

 _Tyrion advised her to do it to gain more favor with the Baratheons and the Tyrells,_ Arya recalled. _It's another deal struck behind closed doors._

"All of you have fought long and hard for Westeros," Daenerys said. "I'm sure my sitting here makes some of you nervous. After all, many of you belong to families which fought against the Targaryens in Robert's Rebellion." She let the statement hang in the air for a moment and the lords shifted back and forth, glancing between each other. "But I do not mean to punish you for that. You rose up against a tyrant who had lost control of his mind. It was the best thing for the people of Westeros. I will not punish sons for the deeds of their fathers. I will not punish anyone for their ancestors. So long as you do not judge me by my father. Everyone here fought to save Westeros from the threat to the north. If you swear fealty to me, the past is forgiven. I swear that to you."

Arya knew she intended to keep that promise. To everyone but one man. But the Dragon Queen did not call on him yet.

"Lord Stark," she called out.

Robb moved forward through the crowd and stood before the throne, looking up at Daenerys.

"You're the eldest son of Eddard Stark who fought with Robert throughout the rebellion," Daenerys said.

"I am, your grace," Robb said.

"Your father, by all accounts, was a good man," Daenerys said. "Honorable. He would not have risen up against my father unless he saw no other way. And my father did awful things to your family. I will not deny that. I hope to correct those errors." She lifted her chin. "But before the Starks and Targaryens clashed, they were allies for many years. I hope to continue that and keep you in your position of Warden in the North."

"You have my thanks, your grace." Robb took a deep breath then lowered himself to the ground in front of her throne. "And I give you my word that the north will be your allies. You protected my people from destruction and helped us greatly at the Twins and Harrenhal. We will honor that."

Daenerys smiled. "Then I will honor my promise. Rise, Robb Stark. Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

Robb obeyed. "Thank you, your grace. If I may...I have one other small request."

"And what is that?" Daenerys asked.

"My brother Jon," Robb said. "He's a bastard of the Starks. A bastard of the north. But without his determination, the people of Westeros would never have united. I trust him with my life. And I wish for him to be given the name Stark rather than Snow."

Another murmur throughout the crowd. It was not uncommon for fathers to legitimize their bastards when no heir was present. But it was rare for a brother to legitimize a brother who could be a threat to this rule.

 _None of them know Jon,_ Arya thought. _He would never harm Robb or the children._

Arya looked to her mother. Ordinarily, Catelyn would protest this development. She had once seen Jon as a threat to Robb as well. But now that she knew the truth, she offered no protest at all.

"Jon Snow," Daenerys called out. "Come forward."

Jon did, moving nervously through the crowd. Arya could see that every eye turned toward him. He knelt before the throne. "Your grace."

"You were a hero in the Long Night," Daenerys said. "And you have proved as honorable as your father. I believe you are well worthy of your family name. So rise as Jon Stark. From this day until your last."

Jon stood and Arya thought she saw tears glistening in his eyes. Though Arya dreaded what was about to happen to Tywin, she felt a surge of happiness in her chest for her brother. He deserved this. He deserved to feel a part of them because he was.

 _And now his true name will be hidden,_ Arya thought. _For as long as possible._

Daenerys called forth other major families of the realm. She thanked the Tyrells for their loyalty to her house in difficult circumstances during the rebellion and their tireless efforts to supply the realm with food in the winter. Naturally, she would keep them the wardens of the south. She thanked the Tullys for their defense of the Riverlands and promised to see the land devastated by the Long Night restored.

And of course she thanked her allies. To Yara Greyjoy, she returned the Iron Islands, on the condition that they no longer pillage the western shores. The Martells she thanked for being some of the first to support her and she declared her intention to marry Quentyn Martell, one of Oberyn's nephews, in order reforge an alliance between the Martells and the Targaryens. One with a kinder end than the last one.

All things considered, Daenerys knew exactly what each family wanted to hear and how to appease them. Arya guessed that most of that knowledge came from Tyrion.

There was one notable family she was ignoring and everyone in the room knew it. The Lannisters. They wanted to know what would happen to the Lannisters. What would Daenerys do with the man who murdered her father and the man who was allegedly behind the deaths of her niece, nephew and sister in law? Arya kept glancing at Tywin, watching his expression. It had not changed at all.

At last, Daenerys paused and seemed to let out a breath. "Jaime Lannister."

Jaime stepped forward from the crowd. His shoulders were rigid and his jaw tense but he stood before Daenerys like all of the others.

"They often call you Kingslayer here," she said. "Because you killed my father. For quite a long time I resented you for that. My brother Viserys told me you were a vicious traitor and an oathbreaker."

"I am an oathbreaker, your grace," Jaime said. "It's just in this case I judged that the oath was meant to be broken."

A murmur went through the crowd and Arya heard a few whispers of Kingslayer from people nearby. Her eyes narrowed, wondering if there was any rule against her fighting _them_.

"Oaths are sacred," Daenerys said. "And if you had broken yours merely to save yourself as the rebellion came to an end, I would surely have you punished for it. However...your brother tells a different story. He says that you discovered Aerys' plan to destroy the whole of King's Landing with wild fire. He was about to put that plan into action when you killed him. If that is true...you must have saved every soul in the city. How many is that, Ser Jaime?"

"Half a million," Jaime murmured, lowering his gaze. This was a story he had only told to a few people because he did not think anyone believe him. Now every soul in the room heard it from the lips of their new queen.

"Why did you not tell the truth then?" Daenerys asked. "Why isn't this common knowledge?"

"To be honest no one much cared what I had to say after that," Jaime said. "I knew they wouldn't believe me."

"Well...I may not have trusted you. But I do trust your brother to be a good judge of character. If you saved so many people when you killed the king then you're right. It was a worthy vow to break. Whether he was my father or not. Sometimes our oaths conflict with _true_ justice." She lifted her chin. "If you kneel, Ser Jaime, I will make you Warden of the West and forgive you for your past crimes."

Jaime let out a long breath. He glanced for a moment over his shoulder, back to his father. Tywin gave him only a small nod.

Then Jaime knelt. "You are kind, your grace," he murmured. "House Lannister will serve you as we served the Targaryen kings before."

It was an unprecedented move of mercy from Daenerys. Most rulers would not forgive those who struck down their fathers. She had established herself as a benevolent ruler in the last few hours which Arya supposed was the point.

Because there was one man to whom she would not show mercy.

Everyone else in the hall seemed to suspect at much. Daenerys named Lord Tywin's _son_ Warden of the west rather than Lord Tywin himself. She had blatantly passed him over. Tywin had not protested to it and had even given his son his approval. Those standing nearest to him must be wondering if he had expected all of this to happen. Expected to fall from his post as Lord Regent and Hand and expected his son to be forgiven.

 _He's not wearing his pin,_ Arya realized. _He came today without it._

She wondered how many others had noticed it. It was a clear show that he was still in control of the situation.

"Lord Tywin Lannister," Daenerys called out as Jaime returned to his place in the crowd.

Arya had never heard the hall quite so silent before. Everyone turned to look in the direction of the Lord of the Rock as he stepped forward to stand in front of the throne. He did not have the look of a man who would soon be dead...and perhaps that made it all the harder for Arya to watch him standing there.

"You have my thanks for your assistance during the Long Night. And after," Daenerys said. "You've done a great deal for the realm in that time. And as Margaery Baratheon said, you agreed to my ascending to the throne. I am grateful for that." She let out a breath. "I said before I would offer forgiveness to all those who kneel. However...there are some crimes that are beyond forgiveness and you are accused of one of those crimes."

"Am I?" Tywin asked. "And who is accusing me?"

"The Martells," Daenerys said. "For the deaths of Princess Elia and her two young children. Their deaths, by all accounts were gruesome. And unlike my father, they were all innocents. Are you guilty of their deaths?"

"The Mountain is surely guilty," Tywin said. "But I was not there when they died."

"That does not matter if you gave the order," Daenerys said.

"The Mountain was a wild dog. Sometimes he went beyond his orders," Tywin said.

"Some would say that still makes you guilty," Daenerys said. "Lords are responsible for the actions of their soldiers and bannermen, after all."

"Yes, some would say," Tywin said. "But in this case, I suppose it only matters what you would say."

If Daenerys had hoped for a clear confession, Tywin was clearly not willing to oblige. That was not his way. He had allowed her take the throne and he was submitting to capture. But he would not make this easy for her.

"A trial will decide your guilt or innocence, Lord Tywin," Daenerys said at last. "All forgiveness has limits. And if you are guilty...you will not be forgiven."

"I would expect not," Tywin said.

Daenerys set her mouth in a hard line. "Ser Barristan? Arrest Lord Tywin."

Arya felt nauseous at the words and even though she knew this would happen, her heart plunged into her stomach. Joffrey had called for her father's arrest in this same hall. She hadn't been there to witness it but she knew it had happened. If she had been there...she couldn't have done anything to save him.

She couldn't do anything now either, though she was standing only a few feet away.

 _You cannot fight your way through everything,_ her mother had told her. And though Arya knew it was the truth, it still hurt.

Ser Barristan came forth at once to do his duty. No other man was needed. Anyone knew that Barristan was legendary with a blade. And he was perhaps the only man brave enough to arrest Tywin Lannister.

Arya closed her eyes so that she did not have to see him cuffed. Every nerve in her body was burning, telling her to fight. To push forward through the crowd and to stand between Tywin and the others.

But she couldn't. Instead she gripped her mother's hand as tightly as she could. Then she opened her eyes again and lifted her chin just in time to see Tywin exit the hall.

She knew the people would be looking to her. To Jaime. To Tyrion. They wondered if any of them might protest or fight back. They wondered if anyone might start a war. Or at the very least, they would be looking for weakness in every Lannister face.

Arya would not give them her weakness. She would not give them her tears. She simply turned from the closed door to look at Daenerys. The queen was studying her, perhaps curious at her reaction.

Arya gave her none. She stared straight back at the dragon queen, her gaze as cold as winter ice. And in her heart, she hoped it made the new queen shiver.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Tywin is arrested and the trial will take place next chapter and be super fun for everyone. Including me...who has to write another large group scene. We'll make it through though. But, whatever happens, you can't say Tywin isn't giving off of a vibe of someone in total control!**_

 _ **Hope you enjoyed! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	104. Chapter 104: The Trial

_**A/N: This chapter is over 8,000 words which is, quite frankly, too much chapter, but here you go anyway. The trial of Tywin Lannister. Hope you all enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 104: The Trial**

Tywin could not be immediately tried for the deaths of Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen and their mother. There were many details to see to before the trial. First, Daenerys had to be officially coroneted by the high Septon as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She did not take the crown of any of her ancestors, but rather a crown of her own which she had brought across the narrow sea. It was wrought in the shape of a three headed dragon, and each of the heads had the coloring of her own beast. One onyx, one ivory, one jade. She was crowned in the dragon pit with her two great beasts standing behind her. It was a moment that Arya expected to be painted or carved in stone someday. Daenerys certainly looked like a queen-the last Targaryen returned to Westeros.

 _Almost the last,_ Arya thought, glancing at Jon. She noticed that the green dragon kept looking to him during the ceremony, picking out his onetime rider in the crowd.

 _If Jon tried to mount him again, would he let him?_ She wondered. It would be an intriguing question for another time.

After the coronation, there were many other matters to see to. Judges to be selected, witnesses to be called. Both provided obstacles for the new queen. She would be one of the judges of course and Oberyn Martell would be the second. It made the third pick entirely redundant because whoever sat the chair would _not_ convince the other two to stand down. That had not been part of the arrangement. But still, Daenerys' pick of a third judge was important for the benefit of the public. She would need to choose a member of another well-known family who was not her ally before she came to Westeros.

A Lannister was out of the question. None of them, not even Tyrion, would be asked to judge their patriarch for murder. The former Queen Margaery also respectfully declined the honor, not wanting to judge the trial of her previous hand. Eventually, Robb was asked and he requested time to consider the matter. He used that time to come to Arya to ask what she thought.

"It seems the outcome of the trial will be the same no matter the judge," Robb said. "He will be declared guilty...but I can at least argue for the Wall as opposed to execution. The Night's Watch will need strong leadership."

"I don't think you'll convince them to lessen the sentence," Arya murmured. "But I appreciate that you would try."

"I can turn down the position," Robb told her. "Daenerys asked me because I'm Ned Stark's eldest son...and Father wanted Tywin punished for his actions. That and it shows the new alliance between the Starks and Targaryens. But I will refuse it if you ask me."

Arya's mouth twitched. No matter how Robb felt about Tywin, he understood that Arya's feelings were more complex. And she knew he must feel conflicted about being positioned against a recent ally. "No. Accept it. There's always a small chance you could convince the Queen. Or at the very least make her doubt."

And then there was the matter of witnesses. Most of the major players in Robert's Rebellion were long dead. That included the guilty parties (the Mountain and Amory Lorch), Robert Baratheon, many of the others in the castle, and even Arya's father. Jaime was one of the only ones left from those days and he was inside the keep at the time of the murder. He had been called to bear witness, but he wouldn't say anything against Tywin. Not even if he _did_ know the truth.

Tyrion had refused to be a witness as well, claiming that he was only a child at the time of the events and therefore his testimony was useless. But Arya could not help but wonder if Tywin had ever let some part of the truth slip to him. Perhaps Tyrion did not want to be put in the position where he was forced to confess against his father. At least Daenerys had been kind enough to allow him to abstain.

Margaery had agreed to appear as a witness though she had not yet been born at the time of the rebellion. She had worked closely enough with Tywin for opinion to have merit. Arya had been called to testify for the same reason. Either of them could have heard some piece of a confession from him at one time or another.

Arya had wanted to refuse. She did not want the judges to try to ambush her into saying something against him. But Tyrion told her that her time as a witness need not be drawn out.

"They want to speak with you because he may have given you a confession at one time or another," Tyrion said. "Simply say he never spoke of the matter and that will be the end of it."

"I'm not worried about that," Arya said. "Lord Tywin has never given a direct confession to me. I would not even be lying. I'm worried I won't be able to hold my tongue on other issues."

"Fair enough," Tyrion said. "I'll...encourage Daenerys not to question you too thoroughly."

Arya knew they must have found other witnesses as well. Perhaps servants who had remained quietly in the castle, never daring to speak up. Or guards who witnessed the carnage and its aftermath. It was not impossible. After all Arya was almost certain Tywin _was_ guilty. He may not have ordered the brutality of the murders, but he most assuredly wanted the children eliminated. This was not a baseless accusation...Tywin was just fortunate that there was not a great deal of hard evidence against him.

Not that it mattered. Evidence or no evidence, witnesses or no witnesses, Daenerys would find him guilty. But if her verdict seemed questionable...that might cause doubt amongst the lords. They may not speak up against her...but they would whisper in private.

And that's what Arya ultimately wanted. Even if she could not save Tywin...she did not want him to be an easy to villain to Daenerys' flawless hero.

* * *

They did not throw him in the black cells. Tywin imagined they knew better than that. The Lord of Casterly Rock had to be treated with a certain degree of respect, especially when his guilt was not assured. So he was allowed to wait in his quarters under guard. It was more lenient than most prisoners would be allowed, perhaps because Daenerys did not suspect him of foul play. He had kept up his end of the bargain after all. He had helped her take the throne peacefully.

She never would have managed such a smooth transition without him. Without the letters he sent to so many of the lords of Westeros, pacifying them in some way. Without the work he had done before, during and after the Long Night to make sure that no one would make trouble. They were settled enough to accept her without a fight. But they were doubtful enough that she would have to prove herself is she wanted to keep the throne.

 _And if she doesn't prove herself...she'll find herself on unsteady ground._

But even as he waited for his trial, there were a few other matters he had to attend to. And one of those matters involved Varys. The Spider.

Tywin had a sense he would earn a visit from the man. Varys, after all, was also on uncertain ground since Daenerys arrived. He had served her father. Then he served Robert Baratheon and informed on the woman and her brother for many years. She had not yet decided his fate, but unless Varys found some way to make himself useful, he would at the very least be ejected from the small council and perhaps worse. Most people did not care what justice a eunuch from across the narrow sea received.

"Lord Varys," Tywin said when the man entered one early morning. "This is a surprise."

"I doubt that, my lord," Varys said. He looked around the room. "Your prison seems suitable. Much better conditions than Lord Stark received."

"Well, Daenerys Targaryen isn't Joffrey."

"No, thank the gods," Varys said. "With any luck, she won't become her father either."

"Do you think there is danger of that?"

"There is always danger when Targaryens are involved, my lord," Varys said, circling the room. "Not all of them are mad. But when they aren't they are cruel or stupid or arrogant. Or all three at once. I can count on one hand the number of Targaryen rulers who were good for the realm. I hope very much that Daenerys Targaryen will be among them."

Tywin studied the man carefully. "Did you help her, Lord Varys? I suspected for a long time that she must have some friends in Westeros. It was the only way she could have avoided Robert's assassins for so long."

"I informed on her for King Robert," Varys said. "And sent some of those assassins."

"That doesn't answer my question," Tywin said. "You can tell me. At this point, I am marked for death and I have no more power in the courts. We may as well be honest with each other."

A little smile twisted at Varys' lips. "Yes, I suppose if you were to tell the queen it would only benefit my situation. I wouldn't say I _helped_ her. But I considered her a favorable option at one point or another. Someone who could bring stability to the unstable kingdoms. The War of Five Kings broke the realm and it seemed the only way to unify them again was to bring a Targaryen from across the seas to reclaim the throne."

"Reasonable," Tywin said. "What changed?"

"The realm stabilized," Varys said. "You made peace with the Starks and crushed Stannis. The Starks crushed the Greyjoy rebellion. And Joffrey was mysteriously killed, giving way to a more reasonable king. There were a few civil wars, but they did not escape their regions and they corrected themselves quickly. I would credit you for all of it, but you never would have managed it if you hadn't found Arya Stark at Harrenhal."

"I agree," Tywin said. "She was a fortunate find. One of the few worthwhile things Lord Baelish did before he helped my grandson try to kill me."

Varys smirked. "We all knew he would overstep eventually. I wasn't particularly sad to see him go." He sighed. "Regardless, you and Olenna Tyrell nicely wrapped the major families together with arranged marriages and ensured that a war on a massive scale would be avoided. And suddenly, a Targaryen queen crossing the narrow sea jeopardized all of that. But by that point, it was too late to really stop her. I expected another massive war even more devastating than the War of the Five Kings. It seemed unavoidable."

"Yet here we are," Tywin said. "It is a good thing that the Long Night came when it did."

"Yes," Varys said. "But that's not the only reason we achieved peace." He sat down at the table across from Tywin. "I'm not easily surprised. Your arrangement with Daenerys Targaryen. That did surprise me."

"And how did you find out about that?" Tywin asked, not even bothering to feign surprise that Varys knew.

"I had my suspicions." Varys shrugged. "I didn't know for sure. Not until you were arrested yesterday."

"You're losing your touch," Tywin said.

"Hardly," Varys said. "I just don't have enough eyes and ears with Daenerys' people yet. And I am unlikely to remain on her small council. Daenerys will distrust me as a spy who moved from her father to her father's usurper."

"It's likely. You would have to gain her trust in some way," Tywin said.

"You sound almost as if you mean to propose something, my lord," Varys said.

"Perhaps," Tywin said. "But before I do, I want to know something. Where do your loyalties lie?"

Amusement sparked in Varys' eye. "With the realm and what is best for it's people. Not with any one ruler. Not with any one man or woman. With the realm as a whole."

"And who has the real power in the realm?" Tywin asked. "Who has the ability to keep Westeros at peace...and deal with Daenerys Targaryen if she happens to go mad?"

Varys smiled and he tilted his head to the side. "I think we both know the answer to that, my lord. She's been on the rise for quite some time...and stabbing the Night king in the heart never hurts."

No. It did not hurt at all.

"Well...if our minds are aligned in this matter," Tywin shifted forward. "Then I have a task for you, Lord Varys."

* * *

Court and the following coronation had gone about as Tyrion had expected but Queen Daenerys was quite nervous about the trial. Only now did she really understand how difficult it would be to sentence his father to death without a proper confession. She _could_ do whatever she wanted of course. But she _wanted_ the people to view her as just and fair. And to earn that, she would have to convince them of his guilt.

"The people know that Tywin Lannister is ruthless," Daenerys said as she paced Tyrion's new office. "They would not put such an act past him. But I would rather have evidence of his guilt."

"You won't get hard proof," Tyrion said. "You may have some convincing testimonies. But my father is no fool. He does not leave an obvious trail to his crimes."

"Do you believe that he's guilty?" Daenerys asked.

Tyrion glanced away, drumming his fingers on the desk. He knew his father was guilty. He had a sort of confession from his father. That the children had to die but that he had not ordered Elia Martell's death. He didn't care about her but he hadn't ordered it. Tyrion knew that if he gave that testimony, Daenerys would take it as fact.

But he did not want to take the stand against his own father. None of the lords and ladies of Westeros would respect him as Hand if he did. And...well he also couldn't bring himself to do it.

"It does sound like something he would do," Tyrion said. "If he did, I don't think he meant for the work to be so...brutal. The Mountain has been known to get out of hand."

"Then he should not have sent he Mountain," Daenerys said. "There's no chance of your father confessing to the crime?"

"Of course not," Tyrion said. "It would not be in line with his character if he bowed meekly and accepted punishment. No one else would believe it either. It's in your interest that he puts up at least some of a fight."

"Some of one, yes," Daenerys sighed, sinking into her seat. "He kept up his end of the bargain. My transition to the throne was peaceful and he did not protest his arrest. I cannot fault him for that. But whatever I do here, I make enemies. If I were to acquit him or even exile him instead of execution, the Dornish would not accept it and the other Houses would see me as weak. And if I execute him...I believe I make an enemy in your sister in law."

"The Dornish versus Arya Lannister," Tyrion said. "A kingdom versus one woman."

"You know it's not just one woman," Daenerys said. "She has family in most of the major houses and now she's the Hero of Harrenhal. The Nightslayer. And right now she is furious with me."

"That's true. I won't deny that she's angry," Tyrion said. "But she also _knows_ my father planned this. He told her as much, which means he also convinced her to stand down and let this go through. She won't make trouble."

"I hope so. But I had my doubts about putting her as a witness," Daenerys said. "Prince Oberyn suggested she might know something so I thought it best to be thorough."

"I wouldn't let her stay up there for too long," Tyrion said. "Let's put it that way."

"I thought you said she wouldn't make trouble."

"She won't. Just don't tempt her."

Daenerys glanced a way, resting her chin against her fist. "The look she gave me in the hall...she did not seem like someone who wanted peace then."

"Oh I guarantee she's looked at my father like that before," Tyrion said. "And you see where they stand now."

Daenerys gave him a tired smile. She was no fool. She knew that she would have to prove herself to the realm if she wanted to keep this seat. Her actions during the Long Night helped, as well as the endorsement from Margaery Baratheon. But the people were uncertain. Doubtful. Afraid of a new Targaryen queen.

Tyrion had his own doubts about her and he blamed his Lord Father for that. He had expected for him to say that Aerys and Daenerys were very different from each other. But their similarities were just numerous enough to be troubling. If Daenerys did go mad...

"Thank you for your help, Tyrion," Daenerys said. "I know I made the right choice of a Hand. Your father gave me the throne. You will help me keep it."

Tyrion gave her a small smile.

A knock came at the door and Daenerys stood. "Come in."

Varys slipped through the door, his hands folded into his sleeves. He bowed low before Daenerys. "Your grace. I do not believe we've had the pleasure."

"No. But I have heard of you," Daenerys said. "Varys, yes? I believe you helped Tyrion cross the narrow sea after he was exiled."

"I did," Varys said.

"You also, if I recall, sent more than one assassin after me," Daenerys said, a cool note creeping into her voice.

"You are correct," Varys said. "At the time, I served a king who wanted you dead."

"Lord Varys did not bear you ill will," Tyrion spoke up. "In fact he was often in contact with Illyrio, your benefactor in Pentos. If he had truly wanted you dead, he could have reached you there."

"Lord Tyrion speaks truly," Varys said. "I did my best to survive in the tumultuous political climate, whispering in many ears."

"And now you wish to whisper in my ear," Daenerys said. "And retain your position."

"I would," Varys said.

"And what reason do I have to trust you?" Daenerys said. "You've turned on so many other rulers. Why not me?"

"I have not turned on rulers," Varys said. "I did my best to survive your mad father while he burned many of his enemies and allies on a daily basis. I made myself useful to Robert but he was killed by a boar. I served both of his sons and had nothing to do with either of their deaths. Each time I served faithfully. But, I confess, I did not care for any of their names and rights to the throne. Everything I did, I did for the stability of the realm. That's all that I want."

"And now you have it," Daenerys said. "You must be pleased."

"I am," Varys said. "And it would please me to help you keep that peace. I understand if you might have your doubts. But I am willing to help you with a certain dilemma."

"And what is that?" Daenerys asked.

"Tywin Lannister," Varys said. "I know for sure that he is guilty and I can testify against him."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed and Daenerys seemed rightfully suspicious. "If he is guilty...why have you not spoken before now?"

"Lord Tywin was the true power in the realms ever since Robert died. And even before that, his daughter was queen and Robert let him go free. Until now, my information has been useless," Varys said. "Now it's not."

"And what would you like in return for this information?" Daenerys asked. "I know you do not offer it freely."

"Only to continue to sit on the small council as your Master of Whisperers," Varys said. "I've always been quite good at collecting important information. This is simply one example of how I can help you."

Daenerys tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair. "I'll...hear the information first, before I decide."

"Naturally, your grace," Varys glanced briefly at Tyrion who still studied him carefully.

It was not unexpected that Varys would make a bid to align himself with Daenerys. His position was in jeopardy. He did not usually act against Tyrion's father, but then again, Tywin was now in chains. And how much weight would the spider's words even carry in court? He had a reputation of knowing many things, but very few people truly trusted him.

But it was Daenerys who made the decisions in the end, and she had already, in her mind, ruled Tywin guilty. Any evidence she received just helped her case against him. Even if it was from Varys.

* * *

The morning of the trial, Arya dressed to make an impression. To the people, she was not only a Stark turned Lannister. She was the one who had slayed the Night King. She had already heard many titles thrown around between the lords and ladies. Nightslayer, Winter's Bane, Hero of Harrenhal. In court today, they would look to see a woman who fit those titles.

Sansa helped her with that. She had always had more of an eye for clothing than Arya. Her tunic and breaches were a plain dark grey, though mostly covered by a deep crimson gown. The fabric split at the waist, usually meant to allow for ease of movement and riding. Arya simply felt more comfortable in this style. It meant she had no fear of tripping over a too long hem. Golden vines were stitched along the hem and sleeves with many jagged edges like thorns. But her sister had done her hair in the northern style. Even with that, it was the most Arya had ever looked like a Lannister, except perhaps on her wedding day.

"Thank you for this," Arya said. "I could have asked a handmaid, but..."

"They wouldn't have known to do your hair this way," Sansa said. "I'm happy to help."

"I'm sure you should be spending more time off your feet," Arya pointed out. Her sister's stomach had grown swollen as the moons past. She would be a mother in a short time.

"No. I hate to sit all day long," Sansa said. "Besides. I would rather be there today."

Arya nodded once.

"Do you...plan to plead for his life," Sansa asked.

"I won't plead," Arya said. "He would be upset with me if he did. I'll speak for him though. It's the most I can do."

"I suppose pleading wouldn't do any good, would it?" Sansa exhaled. "I begged for Father once. After he was arrested. I fell to my knees in front of Joffrey and begged for his life. And Joffrey lied to me and told me he would be more merciful. I was a fool to believe him."

"You weren't a fool," Arya said. "You were young. And you tried to save him."

"We both did." Sansa circled to sit beside Arya, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Father wouldn't have faulted us for failing I'm sure."

"No, of course he wouldn't," Arya said, getting the feeling that Sansa wasn't truly talking about Father. "You've been talking to mother, I assume."

Sansa exhaled but did not reply.

"It's all right, Sansa," Arya said. "Believe me. I'm fine."

"I know," Sansa said. "But even if you weren't...I understand. And I'm here."

Arya nodded once, resting a hand over her sister's where it rested on her shoulder. She let it linger for a moment, studying her reflection in the mirror. Then she steeled herself and stood. "Shall we go?"

* * *

Arya had never attended a trial in King's Landing, perhaps because most trials were not worthy to go before the king. In fact, usually those who slighted a ruler did not get the benefit of a trial. Littlefinger, for instance. His trial was carried out quickly and quietly and the sentence even more so. Tywin had not wanted a large audience for the man.

Lords and ladies sat in chairs arranged at either side of the hall, and those who could not sit stood packed together as tightly as they could. No one wanted to miss the trial of one of the most notorious men in the seven kingdoms, after all. They left a long strip of open walkway from the door all the way to the wooden platform for the accused in the center, just before the throne. The witness box was set off to the side. Two chairs sat on either side of the throne for the other judges who had not yet taken their seats. But Daenerys already sat the iron throne, preparing to dispense justice.

The doors to the throne room opened and Tywin entered, flanked by two guards. His wrists were chained together but he did not carry himself like an imprisoned man. The way he walked, one could swear he was still in complete control. Arya began to pull at the three fingers of her right hand but forced herself to still. She would not show any nervousness today. No weakness.

The other two judges took their seats. Robb, who's grim face showed that he did not particularly want to be there, and Oberyn, who had clearly been waiting for this moment for twenty years. Once they sat, Daenerys spoke.

"Tywin Lannister," Daenerys' voice rang out through the hall. "You have been accused of ordering the senseless murders of Princess Elia and her two children Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen. Are you guilty of this crime?"

"No," Tywin said simply.

"You deny that you gave any orders to Ser Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch?" Daenerys asked.

"I do not deny that I gave them orders," Tywin said. "I deny that I ordered them to kill the children or their mother."

"The Mountain disagreed with you," Oberyn spoke up. "Before he died, he did confess that he was sent to kill all three of them."

"Considering the Mountain went beyond his orders, I would not be surprised if he misremembered them while talking to you," Tywin replied. "Especially if there was a spear in his stomach."

The crowd around Arya shifted, murmuring in low voices.

"What were your orders then?" Daenerys asked. "The orders that they went beyond."

"I told them to secure the children," Tywin said. "Knowing that Robert Baratheon would want them when he arrived. I said nothing at all of their mother."

Oberyn's eyes narrowed. "As if you did not know she would be with them."

"It really was not my business where she was at what time," Tywin said.

His voice was so cool and flat. Almost as if this trial was inconsequential to him. Arya knew how much it must anger Oberyn...to see Tywin so calm.

Since Tywin refused to confess, the trial shifted into the testimonies. Margaery was the first called to witness as the former queen for whom Tywin had been Hand. She was as composed as ever, and even if Tywin had ever discussed his crimes with her (which Arya doubted) she gave no hint of knowing anything.

"I know very little about Lord Tywin's time as Hand to Aerys or the aftermath," Margaery said. "I saw him as hand to two kings and Lord Regent to my son. All I can tell you was he was effective at his job. All he did, he did to keep the realm unified."

"So he never discussed the end of Robert's Rebellion?" Daenerys asked.

"It was irrelevant," Margaery said. "Except in the matter of the Aerys Targaryen's daughter crossing the narrow sea. But we only discussed the Mad King, not any of his grandchildren."

Jaime's testimony also shed little light on Tywin's actions that day. After all, he had not been anywhere near the children when they were killed. But he was there in the city at least.

"I can't speak to what happened to the children," Jaime said. "I know that my father wasn't there when they died. He was storming the city at the time."

"I recall a great many people died in the sack," Oberyn Martell said.

"Yes. A great many people died on the battlefield as well," Jaime said. "And a great many people would have died in the ensuing siege. The Starks and the Baratheons would have starved the city to it's breaking point and the Mad King would not have relented. My father just made everything go a bit quicker."

"And was that brutality justified?" Daenerys asked.

"Justified? I'm not sure. It would depend on who you asked," Jaime said. "I know that your ancestors were responsible for atrocities just as great. Roasting whole castles alive, setting fields aflame. But Aegon the Conqueror was considered a king when the flames died." He shrugged. "It shortened the war, that's all I know. And a shortened war usually means less men dead."

Daenerys jaw tightened slightly at the comparison between her ancestors' actions and Tywin's sack of the city. Arya wondered how much real history she had been taught or if she believed the simple heroic portrayals from all the songs.

"And he never spoke to you about the children?" Robb asked. "Never told you about his intentions?"

"Never," Jaime said, and his voice was firm enough that Arya did not know if he was lying or telling the truth. "And I was far away when they died so I could not speak to the murder itself. Only the aftermath."

"And you don't think your father capable of such a thing?" Oberyn asked.

Jaime stared him down, his lip curling just slightly. "This trial isn't about what I believe, Prince Oberyn. I can only tell you what I know for sure."

Daenerys let him step down then before calling the next witness to approach.

"Lady Arya Lannister."

At the sound of her name, all eyes turned on her. Arya drew in a slow, calm breath before she stood, striding toward the witness box. Her steps echoed through the hall and she forced them to remain steady and even. Calm, just like her expression. When she stepped into the box she glanced for just a moment at Tywin. He held her gaze and though his expression had not shifted, she could tell that he was worried about what she might say.

"Thank you, Lady Arya," Daenerys said. "What is your relationship with Tywin Lannister?"

"He's my father in law," Arya said.

"And before that, you were his ward?"

"I was."

"And what do you know of the crime of which he is accused?"

"Stories and rumors more than any facts," Arya said. "I have heard Prince Oberyn's version. I've heard my father's version. If you're wondering if Lord Tywin ever confessed to me, he did not."

"What was your father's version?" Daenerys asked.

"He wanted Tywin tried for the crime," Arya said. "But he stood down when Robert Baratheon, the king, did not seek punishment. The matter was over and done with."

"The crimes were not Robert Baratheon's to forgive," Daenerys said. "Given that he usurped the throne from the Targaryens."

"You praised my father days ago for standing up to a tyrant," Arya asked. "Why is Robert Baratheon different?"

"Because he should not have seated himself on the throne," Daenerys said. "Not when there were some Targaryens left alive. And he made great efforts to assassinate those survivors."

"As you say, your grace," Arya said. "This isn't a trial for Robert."

A few murmurs went through the court though they quieted quickly. Arya kept her expression impassive.

"You say he did not confess," Oberyn said. "Did he speak of his crimes at all?"

"He said that his men got carried away," Arya said. "He did not intend the final results of that night."

"And did he punish those men at all?" Daenerys asked.

"I'm not sure. He did not kill them, but he may have punished them in some way," Arya said. "However, when Oberyn Martell came north to King's Landing, he was very insistent on the Mountain's guilt. Because of that, Lord Tywin authorized me to allow Oberyn and the Mountain to meet...so that Oberyn could give him the justice he thought suitable. And, as Prince Oberyn has said, he executed the Mountain. Justice was done."

"It was a last minute play to appease my family," Oberyn said.

"Whether it was late or not, he did die for his crimes," Arya said.

"And confessed that Tywin sent him to kill the children."

"I wouldn't believe that confession," Arya said. "At the time, the Mountain was in rebellion against the Lannisters. He allowed the Greyjoys to enter the keep and Euron Greyjoy ultimately killed the king. It would be to his benefit to lie."

More murmurs spread throughout the courts, this time louder. Arya did not look back, nor did she look at Tywin. She held Oberyn's gaze and did not lift her chin. She kept herself completely still as Daenerys ordered quiet throughout the room.

But Oberyn was not done yet. They were not circling each other in a trial by combat, for Tywin had not allowed her to demand it. But they were still sparring with words in that moment, one in favor of Tywin and one opposed.

"If Lord Tywin were guilty for the crime of which he has been accused...would you condone it, Lady Arya?"

"What I condone is not the subject of this trial," Arya said. "I am not the judge."

"Humor me," Oberyn said. "You're a Lannister now but you were a Stark. Your father was one of those who called for Lord Tywin to be tried for his crimes. Do you disagree with him?"

"That's unrelated," Robb cut in. "Our father has been dead for many years now. He cannot give a testimony and you cannot ask her to give one for him."

"No, I'll answer it," Arya said flatly. Oberyn was trying to make this personal and she would gladly accept the challenge. "My father wanted justice for the children, yes. He believed Tywin Lannister was behind it. I do not know how the court would have ruled. I do know that my father was not present for the orders nor for the deaths of the children. He could have been right in his suspicions. Or wrong. I never discussed the matter with him because I was eleven when he died and it was not a conversation for children's ears."

"We are, of course, sorry for your loss," Oberyn said. "But what do you think he would say if he were alive today?"

"I do not pretend to know, Prince Oberyn," Arya said. "I cannot speak to the words of the dead. I can only speak to what I know of Lord Tywin."

"And what do you know of him?"

"I know that if not for him, we would not be standing here," Arya said. Her voice seemed to fill the room and it made her feel stronger. "I watched him unify the seven kingdoms again following the War of the Five Kings, until families that were once at war were breaking bread. When the Queen crossed the narrow sea, he could have met her in battle and we all could have slaughtered each other before the Night King ever reached the south. Instead, when she arrived, he made every effort to prevent war and discuss peace, because he took the threat to the north seriously. Because of the past several years of his efforts, we faced the Night king as a united force. That is the only reason we prevailed even if I struck the final blow." She pressed her closed fist against her leg, fighting to keep her voice and her body steady as she turned back to look at Daenerys. "I would never claim that he has not done terrible things. He has. He has a song for one of them. But we would not be having his trial today if not for him. We would all be among the dead."

Daenerys studied her. "And you think for that reason he should not be on trial?"

"I did not say that, your grace," Arya said. "Good and bad deeds don't wash each other out. I was only answering the question."

She began to step down from the box and Oberyn called out to her again.

"You were not dismissed, Lady Arya."

Arya's gaze hardened and she turned back to look at Oberyn. "Forgive me," she said in an icy tone. "Do you have any more questions, Prince Oberyn?"

Perhaps he had another question in his mind, but Arya's gaze made him hesitate. And in those few seconds, Daenerys stepped in.

"No, Lady Arya. You may step down."

She nodded once, her gaze flicking from Oberyn to Daenerys herself. Then she turned and walked slowly back to her place in the stands. Only as she sat could she feel her hands trembling a bit. It had taken everything in her not to snap at Oberyn for bringing her father into this. She hoped that she had kept enough control. She had not had the heart to watch Tywin's expression as she spoke. That would have made it more difficult.

There were a few other scattered witnesses that Arya did not know. A few servants and guards who at least been nearby when it happened. One was able to describe the gruesome scene for the benefit of the court and Arya saw many faces go pale. She did not blame them. The little princess was stabbed over fifty times though only one strike would have been enough. The baby boy was smashed against the wall. And Elia was raped, split in half by a great sword and had her head crushed in the mountain's hands. It made her glad all over again that the Mountain was dead.

There was nothing conclusive linking to Tywin. All of it was speculation. And then Daenerys called the last witness.

"Lord Varys."

Arya tensed. Seven hells. When she thought about potential threats to Tywin she had not even considered the spider. He had been Master of Whispers to Aerys after all, and he managed to maintain his position with Robert. A man could only do that if he was willing to sell out his old masters to find favor with the new.

Tywin was the old. Daenerys was the new.

Arya looked at Tywin then to see if he had anticipated this new witness. His expression was still a mask. But he must know that if anyone could come up with convincing evidence against him, it was the Spider.

"Lord Varys," Daenerys said. "You were Master of Whisperers to my father."

"I was," Varys said.

"And to Robert Baratheon and his sons."

"That is correct, your grace."

"And why did Robert Baratheon keep you as his Master of Whisperers, despite you previously working for my father?"

"Because there is no one better at this job than I am," Varys said simply. "I have many little birds and they fly all over the kingdom, listening. Then they return to me and tell me interesting tales."

"And what interesting tales did they tell you about this case?" Oberyn asked. Arya could already see his mood was much improved.

"Many," Varys said. "When he saw the bodies, Tywin Lannister was not upset by them in the least. In fact, all reports say that he was pleased. Generally men are not pleased when their people go beyond their orders."

"So you believe he gave different orders?" Oberyn asked.

"Oh, his words are as he says," Varys said. "He spoke of securing the children. But my sources say that Tywin Lannister used similar wording in other situations. Every time he did, his men were clear on his intentions."

"So he clearly wished them dead then," Daenerys said.

"Oh yes," Varys said. "He would not have given such a vague command if he had wanted the children alive. Tywin Lannister is usually quite exacting in his orders. I'm sure many here can say the same. The only exception...is when he wishes to distance himself from a particularly heinous act."

Arya swallowed hard. Varys was right on that count. She had received enough orders from Tywin to know that he was often very specific and left little room for interpretation. Giving an order like "secure the children" to the Mountain...the guilt was clear. She _knew_ that. She just hated to hear it said out loud.

"And you say he did not mention Elia Martell?" Robb asked. He had not asked many questions as a judge, and those he did were usually for clarification.

"No, my lord," Varys said. "My sources say that Lord Tywin did reprimand the Mountain for her death. Not that he cared particularly about her, mind you. But it meant that he had no chance of pacifying the Dornish."

"And you believe your sources reliable?" Daenerys asked.

"As reliable as any other testimony here," Varys said. "You see, there is no hard evidence on this case. Only word of mouth. That is the trouble of holding a trial so many years after the fact. But yes, my sources are reliable enough."

"And why have you not come forward before now?" Robb asked. "If you were so certain of Lord Tywin's guilt in the past."

"I'm sure you can understand why, Lord Stark," Varys said. "Lord Tywin has functionally been the man in charge of the Seven Kingdoms for some time since the kings he has played hand to have been barely grown. Speaking out would not have found the children justice. It would only have lost me my head. So I waited." He nodded at Daenerys. "Now the truth is yours to judge."

"Thank you, Lord Varys," Queen Daenerys said. "That is all."

The court was abuzz with noise again in light of this new testimony, wondering if Varys was right. Wondering if he could be trusted at all. Arya let out a shaky breath. Regardless of how trustworthy he was, Varys had given the queen everything she truly needed to judge Tywin guilty.

Daenerys at last turned back to the accused. Arya looked to him as well. Varys' testimony did not seem to have shaken him, but then he was very good at keeping a stoic expression.

"Do you have anything more to say for yourself, Lord Tywin?"

Tywin looked up at her. "I stand by what I said earlier. I did not order the deaths of the children. You can argue what I meant by my words and you can listen to the Spider if you wish. But I did not explicitly order them killed nor did I kill them myself. And I never mentioned Elia Martell. Her death was unnecessary."

"If it was unnecessary and your men disobeyed your orders then why didn't you punish them more severely?" Oberyn Martell asked. "You are not the type of man to tolerate disobedience from your bannermen if what happened to the Reynes is any indication."

"I did not punish them because it was ultimately to my benefit. Not the death of Elia but the deaths of the children. Because when I brought their bodies to Robert Baratheon, he smiled."

There was a hush in the room and Oberyn gripped the arm of his seat.

"Not for long," Tywin continued after he let his words settle. "He caught himself quickly after, because he realized a heroic king was not supposed to smile at dead children. But if I had brought the prince and princess living to him, he would have killed them himself. Or ordered their death. It may not have been as brutal but it would have had the same result. He could only take the throne if every Targaryen was dead." He looked to Daenerys. "And you should know well enough, your grace, that he spared no thought for the lives of Targaryen children. He sent assassins after you when you were little more than a child."

Daenerys' jaw tightened. A clear sign that Tywin was right.

"Of course Robert didn't kill the children. My men did," Tywin said. "I did not order it but you have already insisted that I meant something more with my words. You have insisted that because I did not punish my men, I must be guilty. Perhaps. You are welcome to believe it. Either way, I don't make a habit of regretting the past. I lived the life that I lived. Judge it as you will."

His voice was so steady and calm even though he knew how this would end. No confessions. No pleading for mercy. He did not even pretend to regret the deaths of the two Targaryen children. Tywin Lannister was a cold and terrible man, but at the very least he did not try to hide it.

"Very well," Daenerys said at last. "The judges will retire to discuss the verdict."

The queen stood and the rest of the court stood with her. Just like that, the trial was at its end and the verdict was imminent. Arya released a breath.

She did not have any hope...but at least it was almost over.

* * *

As she waited for the judges, Arya went to find the small room where Tywin waited. The guards did not hesitate to let her past. She slipped into the room and found him standing by the window, peering out over the cliffs.

"It was a stirring speech," he said when he noticed her in the reflection.

"I'm...sorry," Arya said. "I lost my temper toward the end. He...tried to use my father against me and I-"

"You don't have to explain yourself," Tywin turned back to face her. "Actually, you handled yourself well, given the circumstances. I was worried for a moment you might pull a knife on him."

"I left all of my knives in my room."

"Did you?" He sounded unconvinced.

"All right..." Arya relented. "I had one. But it was hard to reach in the moment."

"Luckily for him."

Arya's mouth twitched, but she found it hard to smile for long. "It won't...make a difference. What I said, I mean. Especially not after what Lord Varys said. It guarantees a guilty verdict."

"A guilty verdict was guaranteed from the beginning, with or without Varys," Tywin said. "He did exactly as expected."

Arya's brow furrowed and she looked at him. "Exactly as..."

He shook his head, glancing toward the door. There were guards just outside after all, likely listening to their conversation.

 _Later._

Arya nodded once, pulling at her three fingers. "I know...that what I said to the courts didn't mean much in the end. But I wanted to place the verdict in doubt at least," Arya said. "My word carries weight. I killed the Night King. Daenerys Targaryen will be eager to placate me after this. She won't want anyone to see her at odds with the Hero of Harrenhal."

Tywin let out a single laugh. Such a rare sound from him. "So that was your intention all along, was it?"

"Partially," Arya said. "Partially I was just...angry."

"I know," Tywin said. "You kept your control in the end."

"You did ask it of me."

"True. But you haven't always done what I've asked of you,"

Arya sighed. No. She hadn't. "I can't fight everything."

Tywin adjusted one of his cuffs. "I'm glad your mother's words stuck with you."

"You talked to my mother?" Arya asked.

"I did," Tywin said. "I've talked to her many times especially where you are concerned."

Arya rubbed a hand up and down her upper arm. "That's still so strange to me."

"What about it is strange?"

"I don't know...My families working together." Arya paused as she realized what she had said. Families. _Her_ families. A bit of heat pressed at her face. "I mean...that's not what I meant..."

A ghost of a smile crossed Tywin's face. "I know."

The guards opened the door then and Arya jumped a bit as she realized what that meant. "It's time," one of them said.

Tywin did not wait for them to enter and grab him. He walked toward the door on his own. A shiver went through Arya. "Tywin..."

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "It's all right. We'll speak again."

It was as if he had seen straight into her soul. Because that _was_ what she worried about. Her father had been taken so suddenly, before she even had time to process. Before she ever had time to say goodbye.

She couldn't...she had to say goodbye this time.

Tywin disappeared from the room and she followed after him to the doorway of the court. She did not return to her seat. Instead, she lingered in the back as the three judges entered and sat. For the briefest moment she looked at their expressions. And she already knew. Just by the look in their eyes, she knew.

She did not need to listen to the verdict. In fact she only heard it distantly, almost as if she was still in the other room. She dug her fingernails into her palm to keep herself from swaying.

"We find you guilty for the deaths of Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen as well as their mother, Elia Martell. The punishment is death to be carried out at dawn tomorrow morning."

 _Death. The punishment is death._

 _Bring me his head._

Arya turned and left the court without waiting to hear the rest, drifting down the hall in a haze. She tried to shake away the memories and swallowed down the bile that rose up in her throat. She had expected this. She _knew_ this would be the outcome.

But it did not make it hurt any less.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Whew. Court scenes are tough. I think someone mentioned in the reviews at some point about Daenerys needing hard evidence to convict. While that is true in a modern setting, in medeval settings justice depended on the mood of the ruler of the day and also didn't have many set rules. And in this case, the best she could get was eye witness testimony.**_

 _ **In any case, hope you all enjoyed the chapter. The fic is coming to an end quite soon and I just want to impress upon all of you again how much I appreciate you all! Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	105. Chapter 105: The Old Lion

_**A/N: Welcome to the next chapter or, as I like to call it, the farewell tour. Gotta wrap up some character arcs and relationships, am I right? Especially since this fic is very nearly at its end. Sorry its a bit late. i was travelling all day yesterday so I had to finish the chapter up this morning. But I hope you enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 105: The Old Lion**

Even when Jaime knew the ending, it did not make it any easier. The entire trial seemed a farce for the benefit of the public. If Daenerys could, she would have simply sentenced Tywin to die without the fanfare. But she had a reputation to uphold.

Reputations...what a curse they really were. Jaime had a reputation as a Kingslayer and an oathbreaker, which people used to throw in his face at every opportunity. No matter what he did or what he said, he knew that reputation would follow him. So he had embraced it, abandoning honor and playing the despicable man everyone expected him to be.

Tyrion did the exact same thing. People called him a dwarf, an imp. A devious, lecherous, warped little man. And he had worn it all like armor. Because that was his inescapable reputation from the time he was born.

But _good_ reputations seemed even more poisonous to Jaime. Those who wanted to appear righteous and just would do anything to keep from falling from people's esteem. And if they stayed long enough in the light...well the books would consider them heroes long after they died. Robert Baratheon, who Jaime had _watched_ smile at the sight of the dead children, was still considered a hero for years after. Even when he became useless from drinking and whoring and plunged the kingdom into debt, the reputation of the hero of the Rebellion followed him.

And Ned Stark's good reputation got him killed. Because everyone expected him to be honorable all of his life. His friends, his family, even his enemies. Until eventually, he could not be anything else. He made a foolish decision...because what was he without honor? One different choice and perhaps he could have returned to his family instead. But his reputation swallowed him up and lost him his head.

Jaime's father had a reputation as well. One of ruthlessness but also strength. He was one who never flinched. Never showed his weakness. Some people hated him for it and others looked to him as a leader. But who was to say what Tywin really felt beneath his mask? Fear, regret, sadness. When had the great Lord of Casterly Rock ever shown any such weakness, even to his own children? His reputation demanded that he stay calm and composed.

Even when the verdict was read to the court, he did not falter. Jaime did. He felt a shudder go through him and he looked instinctively to Tyrion as the voices of the court rose all around them. Tyrion wore a grim expression that may have been a mirror of Jaime's own. They both knew the ending. And still...

And still it knocked the breath from Jaime. Even though he _knew_ in his heart that his father was guilty. That his father had earned this. It was a consequence of that ruthless reputation. He _knew_ that Tywin was not an innocent being charged for a crime he did not commit. But it didn't matter. He was still Jaime's father.

He searched for Arya in the crowd then, not wanting to see her expression, but knowing he must none the less. But in the sea of people, he did not find her. She was no longer standing beside her mother. Had she already left the hall?

" _To go where,"_ he wondered. It didn't matter, he supposed. His missing wife was a good enough excuse to get him out of that crowded hall and the many gazes which lingered on him. He caught his father's eyes for only a moment as the guards approached him. Then he tore his gaze away and hurried from the hall.

Arya was not in their room, nor was she in the place they always sparred. He couldn't find her in the gardens or in the Tower of the Hand. It seemed to Jaime that she had disappeared and that was potentially...dangerous.

On one hand, Jaime knew Arya was sensible enough to know that she couldn't fight this. Not without causing devastating and far reaching consequences. On the other hand, he knew how she could get sometimes when she was desperate. So he needed to find her. Just in case.

He asked Tyrion, but he said that he had not seen her since the trial. Robb Stark was the same. He had seen her leaving right after the verdict but nothing else after that. And her mother could not help him either.

"I will look for her as well," Catelyn promised. "Best that she's not alone now."

In the end, however, it was Sansa Tyrell who guessed where Arya might be. "It's only a hunch," she said. "But...I don't think she's in the Red Keep right now. When we were children and Arya got very upset...she used to run as far as she could and hide where no one could find her. She wasn't actually very good at hiding though. Not from family."

"How far do you think she's gone?" Jaime asked.

"Not far," Sansa said. "And I think I know where she ended up."

* * *

Jaime would not have guessed that Arya came to this place, but the moment he arrived, it made sense. He had been to the Sept of Baelor many times. For funerals, for weddings. He wasn't a particularly religious man but, it was impossible to avoid such things in King's Landing. The last time he had been there...was it for his own wedding? Yes, that was possible. That seemed like a very long time ago.

Arya was not in the sept. She was sitting up on the statue of Baelor just outside, wrapped in a cloak that nearly obscured her face. She was a shadow amongst the falling snow, and if she was cold she did not show it. She was a statue herself against the icy winds. Most would not have recognized her. But Jaime knew her form like the back of his hand.

He approached slowly, standing just beneath her beside the statue, wondering if he should speak. But there was nothing he could think to say. Instead we stood still and silent. Waiting.

"I've always avoided this place," Arya said at last in a soft voice. "All of the time I lived here. I avoided this place like the plague. I was only ever forced to come here for a few funerals and weddings. And when I did, I don't think I let myself focus on anything until I was inside the sept." She looked up from her hands, staring straight ahead at the steps. "But this was where I was when they brought him out. I was on this statue, watching it all."

Jaime let out a long breath. Of course...of course that was what brought her back here. She was tormenting herself with her own helplessness. Punishing herself for not being able to do anything. Arya had never been content to sit and watch. She seemed to consider that the greatest possible sin.

"I stayed her until Joffrey ordered Illyn Payne to bring him my father's head," Arya continued. "Then I climbed down and tried to push my way through the crowd." She smiled bitterly. "I don't...know exactly what I meant to do. I had my little needle of a sword. Perhaps I thought I could kill them all and save him. I was a child then. A foolish child. It was lucky that a man named Yoren stood in my path and held me back or else I might have been killed." She let out a shuddering breath. "I think...that day will always be the worst in my life."

"Then why come back here?" Jaime asked.

"I don't know...if we'll come back here again tomorrow," Arya said. "I needed to prepare myself for that possibility."

Jaime took a step toward her. "Executions take place in many places, Arya. Not just here. It may be...some other place."

She nodded once.

"And even if it isn't, you don't have to return here," Jaime said. "I think my father would understand."

"It's not about what he would understand," Arya said. "People will look for me to be there. They will see it as weakness if I am not present."

Jaime looked up at her, not sure exactly what to say. Yes, perhaps the lords would see it as weakness. But would that be so terrible? Was she not allowed to have one moment when she faltered?

Of course not. Because Arya was in the midst of building a reputation for herself as well. I reputation that walked a very fine line between her father and his. Mercy and ruthlessness. Respect and fear. Wolf and lion. It would be a difficult reputation to uphold and somewhere along the line, Jaime was sure it would eat her alive. It already was. And yet, what choice did she really have?

"Well, there's no need to put on a show of strength until tomorrow," Jaime said at last, reaching out a hand to her. "So you have no need to sit out here in this cold."

Arya looked down at him, glancing from his face to his hand. Then she accepted and let him help her down from the statue. She did not let go of his hand even once they were standing side by side. She clutched it tight in her own.

"I'm...sorry," she murmured. "He's your father. I should be a comfort to you. Not the other way around."

"I'm not comforting you," Jaime assured her. "I just think its best not to tempt the winter. I know you have Stark blood, but still."

"I would have been fine," she said.

"No doubt," Jaime said, linking their arms and drawing her closer to him as they walked. "You can comfort me later, if it makes you feel any better. Inside of the Red Keep though. I'm not as strong against the snows as you."

Her mouth twitched into a small smile as he led her along.

* * *

Daenerys had not said how Tywin would die, perhaps because she wanted to keep her options open. Tywin had a few predictions of course. Beheading was the most common method of execution in the Seven Kingdoms. But then again, Daenerys did have dragons, and she had executed more than one soul with dragon fire.

He supposed he would prefer beheading. At least he could keep his dignity through that. No man could stand strong against Dragonfire, and then there would be only ashes to bury.

He tapped a few fingers against the small table in his room. They had returned him to his so called prison until dawn of the next day, leaving him rather alone with his thoughts. The trial had gone as expected. Varys had done exactly as he asked him. Now he would have a place on Daenerys' small council. But he would not only be whispering in her ear.

" _Give testimony against me. Gain Daenerys trust. And once you do, you will keep a close eye on her and send a few birds toward Arya if any...concerning signs arise."_

Varys had accepted the task. In fact he seemed rather intrigued by the arrangement. And now Arya would have eyes and ears in the small council besides Tyrion. It was an ideal contingency plan, especially if Tyrion ever found himself in a position where he had to watch his step. And of course, Varys had contacts all over the country.

In most cases, Tywin would worry about Varys' loyalties, but his actions seemed in line with his claim of serving the realm. And if it was truly the people who mattered to him, than Arya was ideal for him to support. She concerned herself more with the affairs with smallfolk and seemed to care about their wellbeing. She cared about most innocents. It was not a trait that Tywin could boast, but it could serve her well in establishing control in the winter. Jaime meanwhile could easily gain favor with the nobles of the west as his eldest son. And Tyrion, with any luck, would keep control over the Crownlands.

Tywin rubbed a hand over his face. He was still planning out the future, right up until the end. But at this point he had done everything he could. The rest was up to his children. Tyrion. Jaime.

Arya.

He still was not afraid to die, even standing at the very end of his life. In fact, he preferred a clean death to exile at the Night's Watch. He could not imagine doing well there or living much longer. Better to end it now.

It was an honorable gesture, of course, that Robb Stark had argued on his behalf. The young lord had told Tywin as much earlier that day. He had stopped him and his guards in the hall on the way back to his room.

"I offered it as a possibility," he had said. "I said that you should be given a choice. Prince Oberyn did not agree and the queen ultimately sided with him."

"Kind of you to try," Tywin said.

"It wasn't kindness," Robb said. "Most men are given the choice. And...however difficult our past, we were allies in the most recent wars."

"I suppose it was what honor demanded then," Tywin said.

Robb raised an eyebrow. "You told me once that honor was idealistic nonsense."

"I did. I wasn't sure you remembered anything from that meeting other than wanting to tear my throat out."

"Oh, I remember that feeling distinctly," Robb said. "But I remembered that little lesson of yours as well."

"Did it stick?" Tywin asked.

"Not particularly," Robb said. "I value honor a great deal more than you I think. I just don't blindly cling to it or use it to ignore the truth."

"Well...that is a start," Tywin inclined his head "Best of luck with the north, Lord Stark."

The young man had managed a quick nod before leaving him. It was amusing sometimes to see how Stark minds battled with the concept of honor. On one hand, Robb considered this trial justice the same as his father did. On the other, the Lannister armies had helped him to win the northern civil war. Which code of honor was one supposed to uphold then? Support of one's allies or support of justice?

Still, Robb Stark had learned a great deal over the past several years. He was no longer the impulsive, cocky boy of the War of Five Kings. What raw talent he had for leadership had been refined. And House Stark, against all odds, would be House Lannister's strongest ally in the coming years. That was not something Tywin would have predicted seven years ago. He would not have predicted being on anything but hostile terms with _any_ of the Starks.

But Robb Stark was not the only one who felt called to speak to him in the moments before his death. Tywin was surprised to receive a visit from Catelyn Stark shortly after the trial. Her expression was rather solemn, though he was sure it was not for him. For her daughter, of course, but not for him.

"Lady Catelyn," Tywin said. "I somehow thought we had spoken for the last time a fortnight ago."

"As had I," Catelyn said. "But there was something you said in the trial that I needed to ask you about."

Tywin gave a wave of his hand. "Ask then. Answering you won't make my current situation any worse."

"It was what you said about Robert," Catelyn said. "At the very end. Did he...truly smile? When he saw the dead children?"

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "What reason would I have to lie about that detail?"

"I'm not sure," Catelyn said. "To make it seem as if the deaths of the children were inevitable."

"They _were_ inevitable. I did not make them seem that way," Tywin said. "And you already know that I was not trying to escape execution, so I had no reason to lie."

Catelyn exhaled, sinking into a chair across from him. "Then he did. What kind of man could bring himself to smile at such a sight?"

"A man who hated all Targaryens and wanted them dead," Tywin said. "Does that sour your good opinion of him?"

Catelyn brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. "I never _had_ a good opinion of him. He was friendly enough at first, but he spent most of his time drinking and openly consorting with other women. Sometimes when his wife was in the room."

Yes, Tywin recalled as much. Robert never dared to dishonor Cersei in such a way when Tywin was nearby, but he heard the stories from her. And Tywin was not often in the capital in those years. "He never was a responsible man."

Catelyn twisted a ring about her finger. "No. Not a drop of responsibility in him. But I understood why Ned was loyal to him because they grew up together. But...if when he saw those children..." She shook her head. "My husband _hated_ you for what happened to them, and he was right to do so. But he went south for Robert. He _died_ for Robert. I don't understand that at all...if what you say is true."

"Because no matter how Robert Baratheon reacted, he did not do the deed," Tywin said. "Perhaps your husband pretended that his friend would have showed mercy. Or maybe he forgot the smile in time."

"I don't know how he could," Catelyn murmured. "He never should have come south to this rat's nest of a capital. This place was not built for men like him."

"No. It wasn't," Tywin said. "I'm sure he would be pleased by the verdict today. You can take some comfort in that I suppose."

"He would be pleased," Catelyn agreed. "Though the Dornish Prince shouldn't have brought him into it. Not when Arya was on the stand."

Tywin recalled that moment well. The one instance in the entirety of the trial when he had almost dropped his calm expression. Oberyn Martell was called the red viper for a reason. Like any snake, he knew how to find weak spots and strike fast and hard. It was amazing that Arya had held together as well as she had. "I knew that Prince Oberyn would find some time to bring the honorable Lord Stark into the trial to prove his point."

"I have no issue with that," Catelyn said. "Just with him using it against my daughter."

"Believe me, I took issue with it as well," Tywin said. "She held strong enough against it."

"She did. A picture of strength really." She glanced at him. "You truly do not deserve her."

He did not argue that point...because Catelyn Stark was quite right on that count.

They lapsed into a long silence then, and Catelyn stood to go. She said she did not want to take up anymore of his last hours.

"No need to worry about that," Tywin said. "I doubt I'll have many visitors today."

"You don't have a reputation for making friends," Catelyn said.

"No," Tywin agreed. "Watch out for her. Arya. And if she seems as if she is about to do something especially foolish...advise her not to."

"She doesn't listen to me any more than she listens to you," Catelyn said. "But I will."

"Thank you," he said. "Farewell, Catelyn."

Her hand tightened just slightly on the handle of the door, but her expression remained impassive. "Farewell, Tywin."

It occurred to Tywin later that it was the first and only time that they had not used each other's titles. Perhaps because they realized it did not matter anymore.

Tywin's next visitor surprised him as well, though not for the same reasons as Catelyn. This person he knew was fond of him, but he hadn't actually thought she would make it before he was executed. But when he looked up, Genna was bursting into the room like she always did, her riding cloak still fastened to her shoulders.

"At least they didn't throw you into some dark cell," she said, surveying his quarters. "I wouldn't have been able to visit you there. Too cold."

"I...wasn't sure you would reach King's Landing in time," Tywin said, still bewildered by her sudden appearance.

"Well you didn't give me much notice, did you?" Genna said tersely. "Kevan only a few moons in the dirt and you send me a letter saying you might soon be joining him. You two can't..." She paused, turning away for a moment to wipe at something under her eye. "You can't expect me to attend two funerals in such a short amount of time."

Tywin exhaled. "I did not mean for you to attend two funerals. Kevan...was not supposed to die."

"It didn't surprise me when I heard," Genna said. "I always knew Kevan would die following you somewhere. That was the lot he chose in life."

 _He didn't follow,_ Tywin thought grimly. _He went ahead of me...before it happened._

"I always knew Tygett and Gerion would go before us," Genna said, pacing about the room. "Even though they were younger. They seemed the type to die earlier. But I had rather hoped I would go before you and Kevan. I'm not sure how I would go. Choking perhaps. Or falling from my horse. Or some plague." She was agitated. She always twisted her fingers together when she was agitated. And she couldn't keep still. "I thought...somehow...at the very least you would outlast me."

Tywin moved into her path, because her pacing was beginning to agitate him as well, catching her arms to still her. "Genna...stop."

Her jaw went taut and she glared up at him. "You realize, don't you? That after tomorrow, I'll be the last of our family. Mother and father gone long ago and all of my brothers dead. It's selfish of you to leave me with that burden."

"Would you have rather have left me with it?" Tywin raised an eyebrow.

She laughed once, but the sound was pained. "Well, you're used to it, Tywin. Taking on the burdens of our family. You made it your job since you were a child. Since father wouldn't do the job..."

Yes, she was right. Tywin had born the burdens of the Lannister name since before he became a man. And now, for the first time in so many decades, he was about to pass them off to someone else. What a strange feeling it was.

"Don't worry. I'll look after the younger ones. Jaime and Tyrion. And all of Kevan's children too," Genna murmured. "The name will continue on. Like you wanted. And I won't waste a single tear on you or any of the dead."

"Good," Tywin said. "I wouldn't deserve them."

She looked up at him with a sort of exasperated look. Then she hugged him tight. He let her, resting a hand on top of her head. For all the years that had passed and for all the people they had lost, she was still his younger sister.

He was glad she had made it before the end.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Tywin received another visitor. This one _had_ been expected. He recognized his second son's shadow at the door before he stepped into the dim lighting. It was a shadow that Tywin had so often resented over the years-stunted and misshapen. Belonging to a child who killed his mother to come into the world. Yet still, at the end of it all, his son.

"That went as expected, I suppose," Tyrion said. "Though I'm not sure if you planned for Varys."

Tywin had planned for Varys, but he did not plan on telling Tyrion that. It was easier for one to hide a secret from their queen when one was blissfully unaware. "It didn't matter either way. I agreed to face trial knowing that Daenerys would find me guilty."

Tyrion nodded once, rubbing a hand behind his head. "It was a long affair."

"I've seen longer."

"I'm not sure I could have sat _through_ longer," Tyrion admitted. "You know when you exiled me all of those years ago, I remember wanting to refuse the ship out of spite. Demand you put me on trial anyway. But I'm glad I didn't because...well I don't think I could have endured a trial like that. Especially is Cersei was the one gathering the witnesses." He paced over to the table where a pitcher of wine sat. They had been kind enough to provide wine at least. Tywin watched him pour. "You didn't seem bothered by it. Though maybe you were just hiding it well. Were you bothered?"

"It varied from moment to moment," Tywin said.

"Yes...I imagine it did." Tyrion crossed the room again, holding two cups of wine. He set one in front of his father. "One last drink then. Not that we had many but...it's a special occasion."

Tywin accepted the cup, taking a small sip. Tyrion finished have the drink in one go. His son was nervous. Just like Genna had been. Agitated. Not knowing what to say. Unable to keep still. Not one person knew exactly _how_ to say goodbye.

"Is your queen satisfied with the result?" Tywin asked.

Tyrion laughed once. "I think she would have preferred it if you confessed."

"Naturally," Tywin said. "But she must have known I wouldn't give her an easy time. The people would not have believed it."

"I told her as much," Tyrion said.

Tywin sipped at his wine again. "She did not ask you to play judge or witness."

"She did," Tyrion said, lowering himself into the seat across from Tywin. "I just...asked to abstain from it. Given I was only a child when it all happened. It didn't seem I had much to add to the proceedings."

"Except for the fact that I told you what happened that night," Tywin said. "That I had, indeed, meant for my men to kill the children, if not so brutally. It seems that would have been a useful testimony to her."

Tyrion drummed his fingers against his now empty cup. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"

"You didn't tell her," Tywin said. It was a statement not a question.

"The people won't trust a Hand who testifies against his father," Tyrion said. "I need to think about the future. I knew she would find you guilty regardless. There was no need."

"That sounds reasonable enough," Tywin acknowledged.

"Yes, I thought so too," Tyrion said, setting down his cup with a harsh 'clack' against the table. "In any case, she allowed me to abstain and avoided complicating the whole matter."

"Kind of her," Tywin said. "In any case, Varys said anything that you might have said. It would have been redundant."

Tyrion nodded, fidgeting with the pin on his chest. Tywin recognized it. It was the one he had left in his office on his desk. "It's strange to be in the Tower of the Hand again. Do you...remember when you sent me to manage Joffrey in your stead?"

"Of course I remember," Tywin said. "It wasn't very long ago."

"Feels like a lifetime," Tyrion said. "And now this...this feels the same just...more permanent."

"Your queen seems a touch easier to manage than Joffrey," Tywin said. "And if she begins to show any dangerous signs, I assume you will keep a close eye on them and act as you feel necessary."

"Yes. I will," Tyrion said. He sighed, rising to pour himself another cup of wine. "First time that I will be an official Hand and not an acting Hand. I have some rather large shoes to fill for someone so small. I think Lord Varys once told me that a small man can cast a very large shadow." He turned, a bitter smile on his face. "But then again, you always did blame me for being small."

"I didn't," Tywin said, and at those words, Tyrion's bitter smile faltered into a look of confusion.

"You could have fooled me, Father."

"I didn't blame you," Tywin said. "I hated you for it, on occasion. But perhaps that was because I couldn't blame you for it. It would have been so much easier if I could."

Tyrion seemed to shudder, looking away and drinking deeply again. There was a long silence between them, which was to be expected. They'd never been particularly good at talking to each other when they were not arguing.

"Do you know how she plans to execute me?" Tywin asked.

Tyrion shifted from foot to foot. "There are...a variety of possible methods."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Does one involve dragons?"

"Yes. One involves dragons." Tyrion looked back at him. "I'll argue for beheading if I can. Cleaner and more likely to be accepted by Westeros nobility."

"I'm sure Prince Oberyn would hope for a more painful method," Tywin said.

"Of course he would," Tyrion said. "But he's not Daenerys Hand. I am."

There was a hard note in his voice just then. A note of anger, perhaps, at Oberyn. Anger for Tywin's fate? He knew perfectly well he didn't deserve that from his son. But Tywin inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Well..." Tyrion finished his drink and set the cup back on the table. "I wouldn't want to...take up any more of your time. I suppose I'll..." He trailed off as he moved toward the door. "I suppose its best we say goodbye here."

"Yes. That would be for the best," Tywin said.

Tyrion nodded once, looking as if he had so much more to say but no idea how to say it. "Farewell then...Father."

"Farewell, Tyrion."

His son slipped out the door soon afterward and Tywin heard it lock behind him. He leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. It was strange to him...that his son had any regret at all. He had expected Tyrion to be rather spiteful when he returned from across the narrow sea. He would not have been wrong to hate him. Tywin had exiled him for a crime he did not commit because it was convenient.

But, at the end of the day, Tyrion did not always do what Tywin expected.

* * *

Another hour wore on. Another hour alone with his thoughts. And then Tywin's eldest son came to the room and sat at the table across from him. They had not spoken since court and even then they had only exchanged a few words. Their last real conversation had come the day before that, when Tywin told him his intentions for the future. He had expected Jaime to argue. Of course he had. Not one of his children ever went along with his plans without putting up some argument.

But in these last moments, Tywin hoped not to argue anymore.

"So," Jaime said. "Everything went exactly as you wanted?"

"Yes," Tywin said. "It did."

"Well at least someone is happy then," Jaime said. "You're one of maybe...three people? Daenerys Targaryen, Oberyn Martell and you. What an interesting group."

"I don't think Daenerys Targaryen is happy. She hoped for me to confess and make things easier," Tywin said. "And she'll be worried about her future relationship with House Lannister. Oberyn Martell on the other hand...I do imagine he's quite happy."

"He wouldn't be if he knew that you planned this whole arrangement," Jaime said. "I don't suppose Daenerys told him that."

"I doubt it. Tyrion would have advised her not to. And she does seem to listen to him," Tywin said.

Jaime nodded once, rubbing a hand across his stump. He had forgotten his golden hand...or perhaps he had intentionally neglected to wear it.

"You never told me the full story of that day," Tywin said. "The day you killed the Mad King."

Jaime shrugged. "It...didn't seem important."

"Thousands of barrels of wildfire hidden all across King's Landing didn't seem important?"

"No, they did, but..." Jaime shook his head. "I didn't want anyone to know about them. It seemed better that way. What if a new king came along and decided one day to follow in the Mad King's footsteps and set them alight. Only this time, I wouldn't be there to stop it."

"It's possible," Tywin said. "So why didn't you tell me?"

Jaime sighed. "I...I don't know. At the time, it didn't seem to matter whether I told the truth or not. Everyone had already formed their opinions the moment they walked into the throne room and saw Aerys Targaryens blood on my sword. What did it matter why I did it? He died. That was the end of it." He looked up at him. "In any case, you were rather angry with me at the time. And I avoid talking to you when you're angry."

"Why did you think I was angry?" Tywin asked.

"Because...I became a knight of the Kingsguard and surrendered my birthright for a king who would have burned down the world if he got the chance," Jaime said. "I know you were furious at me for that."

 _I was far more furious at Aerys,_ Tywin thought. _And myself. I should have told you the truth about him long before so that you would have known to refuse him._

"You were just a pawn in a game between us. A game that started before you were even born," Tywin said. "It his revenge when he named you kingsguard."

"I know that now," Jaime said. "He told me as much once. At the time I thought it had something to do with my skill with a sword. Foolish thought. In the end, being in the King's Guard wasn't much about skill. Just about watching the king do terrible things and not having the power to stop any of them." He looked up at him. "Was that what it was like as his hand?"

"I could manage some of his terrible things," Tywin said. "Not all of them."

 _I could not stop him from taking you from me,_ he thought. _I could only barely stop him from going after your mother. And there was nothing I could do to save him from himself in the end._

"I saved a great many people that night when I drove a sword through his back," Jaime said. "I saved strangers. I saved enemies. I saved you. But in the end, I killed him for myself as much as the rest of you. Because he was a monster and he terrified me."

"Yes, he was a monster," Tywin murmured. "And I should have told you about him long before he named you to his Kingsguard. Then you could have refused him."

"Would he have let me refuse him?" Jaime asked.

"If he had retaliated, I would have found a way to kill him myself," Tywin said. "I should have found a way. Long before you stabbed him in the back...I should have ended him."

Jaime shrugged. "Dead is dead. It doesn't matter who did it."

Tywin inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "Do you know where he hid all of the wild fire?"

"No," Jaime said. "I can't begin to know. Beneath major thoroughfares and landmarks. Beneath the gates I expect."

"Hire men to search for them then," Tywin said. "And move them. Daenerys Targaryen is not mad yet, but we will not take the risk."

Jaime nodded once. "I'll handle it father. The wildfire and...everything else."

"What is everything else?" Tywin asked.

"Solidifying control over the west even after you're gone," Jaime said. "Maintaining strong allies but making sure House Lannister is never reliant on them. And helping Arya adjust to her new role of course. I'm exactly worried about her."

"You'll naturally have more loyalty from the western lords," Tywin said. "Since you're a Lannister by birth."

"Yes," Jaime said. "But I'll insist that they recognize her authority as well."

"Good," Tywin said.

They lapsed into silence for a while, as if they knew their last meeting was coming to an end but did not know how else to drag it out. At last, Jaime stood and Tywin stood with him. There was an uncertainty in his son. A fear. He did not think he could step into this role. It was a position he had been avoiding all of his life and he had clearly hoped to avoid it just a little bit longer.

"You'll be fine," Tywin said at last. "You're my son and heir. And I would not be leaving now if I did not think you were ready."

Jaime nodded once. "I'll...try not to disappoint you then father."

Tywin reached out then, clasping the side of his face in one hand. "You won't."

He felt his son shudder slightly beneath his palm. Then Jaime managed a nod and a soft goodbye. Moments later, he left the room and Tywin was alone again.

He sighed and slowly returned to his seat. He tried not to think of what else he should have said to his son before he left. After all, Tywin had never made a habit of regret.

* * *

It was the dead of night and Tywin did not sleep. There was no point to that. And besides. He was still waiting. Waiting for one last visitor.

Then, in the Hour of the Wolf, she came. The door creaked open one last time. Tywin looked up to see Arya slipping into the room. She had seemed to fill the room during the trial, so it was almost strange to see her then, looking very small.

For a long moment, she stood in front of the closed door, not saying a word. Then she glanced down to see Tywin's empty cup sitting beforehand.

"More wine, my lord?" she asked, as if she was his cup bearer all over again.

His mouth twitched. "Yes. Pour yourself a cup as well."

* * *

 _ **A/N: I want to spend a lot of time on the final Arya and Tywin scene, so that's going to be almost all of the next chapter. It started with them, so its only fair. Hope that you enjoyed the sadness. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	106. Chapter 106: The Last Farewell

_**A/N: Oof. Turns out its hard to wrap up a character relationship that's been on a journey for over one hundred chapters. But here we are. I'm not sure I could ever do it perfect justice, but I did try my best. This scene has, after all, been in the plan since the story was first concieved. But this is a long way of saying this chapter is sad and I cried a lot during the writing process. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 106: The Last Farewell**

Earlier that evening, Arya had gone to speak to Daenerys Targaryen, the new Queen of the seven kingdoms. She found her in the Tower of the Hand with Tyrion, discussing some matter of the court. Arya did not really bother listening in before she entered the room. Whatever they were discussing was of little importance to her just then.

Tyrion stood at once when he saw her, and Daenerys brow furrowed. Arya was satisfied to see the slightest spark of nervousness in her violet eyes.

"Lady Arya...what brings you here?" Tyrion asked.

"I would like to speak with the queen," Arya said. "Alone, if you don't mind."

Daenerys and Tyrion glanced between each other and Daenerys gave him a small nod. Tyrion sighed and paced around the desk to leave. As he passed Arya, he rested a hand on her arm. She was not sure if it was in comfort or warning. Or both. Regardless, she gave him a small nod.

When the door had closed Daenerys turned fully to face her. "I know what you've come here to ask. But it's impossible. I already passed the sentence. To revoke it would show indecision and weakness."

"I know," Arya said. "I did not come to argue with your judgement, my queen."

Her brow knit in confusion. "Then...what does bring you here?"

"You failed to mention how you would carry out the sentence," Arya said. "I wondered if it was because you knew the court would react poorly to your chosen method."

Daenerys hesitated. "No...it was because I was undecided on the method."

 _Good,_ Arya thought. _Then I will help you decide._

"Tyrion advised me that beheading may be the best course," Daenerys continued. "Quick and clean. Prince Oberyn believes that showing the power of dragon fire will be a more effective lesson. I suppose I know which one you would choose."

Arya could not imagine watching either option. There would be nothing left of Tywin after the dragon fire, and it seemed a painful way to go. And beheading...well, even thinking about it made bile rise up in her throat. It was not a poor way to die but...

 _Bring me his head._

But even so.

"What did you promise the Dornish?" Arya asked after a pause. "Regarding the execution?"

"I promised them that Tywin Lannister would face justice," Daenerys said.

"You did not promise a particular kind of death?"

"No. We did not discuss it."

"Good," Arya said. "Then you won't be breaking your promise if you give me leave to handle it instead."

"Handle it?" Daenerys asked. "I don't quite understand what you're suggesting."

"I'm not suggesting. I'm asking. Asking for your leave to give Lord Tywin some painless execution. He will be dead by dawn and you will not have to choose between those two methods."

"Why..." Daenerys shook her head. "And why would I give you permission to do that?"

"Because I'm the Hero of Harrenhal," Arya said. "I killed the Night King and saved this kingdom for you to rule. I can help you keep the peace for many years, because I have many friends throughout the major families and I know that peace is what is best for the kingdom. This is the only thing I am asking in return, your grace. This one thing...and you will have an ally in me."

Daenerys hesitated...and that was how Arya knew that she had her. Because the Dragon queen _knew_ she needed Arya for an ally if she was to keep the seven kingdoms. Arya didn't have to threaten her. The threat was implied in the space in between her words. She had watched Daenerys fretting over how to obtain Arya's support ever since she arrived in Westeros. And here Arya was offering her such a simple thing in exchange for her loyalty.

"You won't break any vows or promises if you give me this, your grace," Arya said, pressing her advantage. "You promised justice. And death is death no matter the method. Please. Give me your leave."

"And if I do not?" Daenerys asked.

"Then that is your decision," Arya said. "But I hope that you will. I think it would be best for everyone if we were on good terms."

"I agree," Daenerys said, pacing toward the windows. Arya watched her thumb and forefinger rub together nervously. "If I allow you this...I have conditions."

"And what are those?" Arya asked.

"That you do not resent me for the trial," Daenerys said. "You must know that I could not let him live."

"I know," Arya said.

"What you said about him during the trial was not wrong," Daenerys turned back to face her. "He was instrumental in my peaceful transition to the throne and he kept his promises. I do suppose...that a painless execution is payment enough for that."

She was rationalizing her choice, though she likely knew this would upset Oberyn. It might even drive a wrench between her and the Dornish. But what did it matter when she seemed to be getting so many more allies in return? She had already promised to marry Quentyn Martell. She had their loyalty through marriage. It was the other houses she still needed to buy.

"So," Arya said. "Will you give me leave, your grace?"

Daenerys nodded. "Yes, Lady Arya. I give you leave. So long as you continue to work to keep peace in the realm."

"On my honor as a Stark and a Lannister," Arya said. "I swear that I will."

It was never a question that she would work to maintain the peace. But that might not always mean serving Daenerys. It was a small thing...but it pleased Arya that she was not made to swear a vow she could not keep.

* * *

That was what led Arya to Lord Tywin's room in the dead of night, clutching a small vile in her hand. It almost seemed to burn her skin as she pressed it against her palm. She was painfully aware of the contents of the vile. She had asked Daenerys for this...and yet the thought of actually giving this poison to Tywin...

 _He will die either way,_ she thought. _This way is better._

"More wine, my lord?"

"Yes. Pour yourself a cup as well."

At his instruction, she slowly poured them both a full goblet. It was a familiar motion to her. She had poured him wine at Harrenhal and in his tent during the War of Five Kings. On occasion, she had poured him wine in the Tower of the Hand during their lessons. But it struck her then...that this was the last time.

"I'm not sure I was ever particularly good as a cupbearer," she said, hoping to fill the silence. "It's surprising you kept me on long enough to find out who I was."

"For a highborn girl, you weren't terrible," Tywin said. "You knew how to make yourself small and stay out of the way when you weren't needed. Though you couldn't pass for lowborn any better than you could pass for being a boy."

"I fooled almost everyone," Arya said indignantly, turning away from the table. "And you didn't know who I _really_ was until Lord Baelish told you."

"Because at the time, I thought you were still in King's Landing," Tywin said. "No one had told me otherwise."

"Probably because they were afraid to tell you a twelve year old girl escaped them."

"That is likely."

For a moment, a silence fell between them again, and Arya lingered at the table, clutching both goblets of wine in her hand. Then she let out a shaky breath and paced over to where he sat. She uncorked the tiny vile and poured the contents into one of the cups. Then she slowly slid his across the table.

He looked from the cup up to her and let out a long sigh as he realized what she was doing. "Arya-"

"It's all right," Arya said. "I have permission from the queen, granted to me earlier this evening." She drew a letter from her belt. "I had her put it in writing...just in case you doubted me."

"I don't doubt you. I would know if you were lying," Tywin said. None the less, he took the letter from her and read it over a few times before setting it aside. "How did you convince her?"

"I reminded her of my current influence in the realm," Arya said. "And asked for this small favor in return for helping to keep the peace."

"It almost sounds as if you threatened her," Tywin said.

"I didn't," Arya said. "I made her a desirable offer. I didn't need to say much. She desperately wants me as an ally."

"Of course she does. She's not a fool," Tywin said. "But whether she approves of this or not, I can't imagine Oberyn Martell will."

"If he confronts me, I will tell him the truth. That his queen allowed it," Arya said. "He can be angry at me if he wants...but I could not have done this without permission from Daenerys Targaryen."

"So you're hoping to alienate the Dornish from her," Tywin said.

"Not alienate," Arya said. "I'm planting a small seed of doubt."

His mouth twitched. "None the less, you will have to prepare to face the consequences for it. Everything you do now will have a consequence, Arya."

"I know," Arya said. "But I'll handle them. I have a strategy."

"And what is your strategy?" Tywin asked, studying her carefully. It was a test, Arya knew. Of course he would use his last moments to assess her plan. He was so fond quizzing her. He had been doing it ever since they first met.

"Secure the realm," she said. "Make sure that the iron throne is not the only seat of power."

"How will you do that?" he asked.

"The board is already set perfectly," Arya said. "Daenerys has taken the throne but the lords and ladies of Westeros know that it was only a peaceful takeover because you and Margaery allowed it. Your trial was just inconclusive enough that they will doubt her verdict. The only reason they don't protest is because they fear the dragons and there does not seem to be a better option. And because you pacified their liege lords, they won't make trouble until the time is right. They're all too tired to start another war after the Long Night. There will be peace...but an uneasy one."

"What if Daenerys turns the people to her side in that uneasy peace?" Tywin asked. "She's a charming woman. She could win them over and ease their worries."

"She can try all she likes. I'll still have more allies," Arya said. "The West is a given. So is the North. Robb rules there and my brother would never side with any queen against me. Not even if we somehow grew to hate each other. Honor won't allow it. I'll also have the Reach because once Mace Tyrell dies, Willas Tyrell will become the Lord. And my sister is married to him. I've seen enough of their interactions to know that Sansa will hold a great deal of sway in the realm. That means, in war, the resources belong to us. Not to mention Sansa did well gathering information with the women of Winterfell during the Northern civil war. I'm sure she could manage it on a larger scale."

"It wouldn't be a poor investment," Tywin said.

"Then I have the Riverlands," Arya said. "The Tullys will back our side because of my mother. And since they are most involved in the rebuilding of the Vale, I suspect they will have a great deal of influence there. The Stormlands, once Margaery charms them all, will be on my side. Margaery may have given up her throne amicably, but I know it wasn't her first choice. She will gladly take any offer that sees her son back on that throne. I won't have the Greyjoys but they will be spending all of their energy building back up their navy. I'll make sure that the Farman navy outpaces them."

"And the Dornish?" Tywin asked. "You certainly won't have them. Not after the marriage alliance and your actions here tonight."

"No. You're right," Arya said. "But the Dornish against the rest of the seven kingdoms? That doesn't seem like much of a contest. They would have to attack and they've always been most effective when they defend their territory, if history is correct."

"What about the Unsullied and the Dothraki?" Tywin asked.

"The Dothraki won't stay in Westeros," Arya said.

"You sound sure of it."

"I am," Arya said. "They're nomads who are used to vast grasslands and warm temperatures year round. Even this far south, this winter is hard on them. And their way of life will not mesh well with that of the lords of Westeros. To keep the peace, Daenerys will send most of them back to Essos to continue her work there. I'm sure the unsullied will stay and become Daenerys' royal army. I won't dismiss them as a strong fight force. But they won't bare any children which means they will age and their forces will eventually deplete."

"They may not be her only allies," Tywin said. "You're right to say that most of the major families would fight for you. But their bannermen, if they saw the war as unjust, might turn to serve their queen rather than their lord."

" _If_ the war is unjust," Arya said. "I wouldn't attack unless I'm given cause."

Tywin folded his hands together. "Say that it did come to war then and you did happen to win? Who would you place on the throne?"

"You know the answer to that," Arya said.

"Your brother, from what I have observed, has little interest in ruling," Tywin said. "He would need a queen with a talent for politics, as well as a good Hand and council."

"Just like Tommen did." An idea came to Arya just then. "Margaery is currently unwed is she not? And she only has one son. That puts the Baratheon line in a precarious position, considering she has no spare children."

"That is true," Tywin said. "And how would you solve that problem?"

"Well, she would need to remarry someone who could give her more sons to bear the Baratheon name. Jon is noble and from a good family, but also, according to most of the country, a bastard by birth. So his children by her could be given the Baratheon name. And if later...some proof is found that Jon is the trueborn son of a different family that would make things less complicated."

"That it would," Tywin said. "And do you think your brother would agree to such a match?"

"He's been legitimized now. He'll have to marry eventually, like all high born lords," Arya said. "A Stark and Baratheon match is wise for diplomacy. And what man would really deny Margaery?"

"Very few," Tywin said. "Do you foresee any other threats to this strategy of yours?"

"The dragons," Arya said. "They will be a problem as long as they live and follow their mother. It is possible that the green one can be turned now that Jon has ridden it. Dragons do not usually take a second rider until their first has died. As for the other...well, we'll find some way." She exhaled. "Then of course there's Lord Varys. He has eyes and ears everywhere. I brought Merwyn with me just to be sure that no one could walk this hall without me noticing. But then...you did say he played his role as expected."

"Yes. And he did," Tywin said. "His confession put him in Daenerys' good graces. But it happens that he has been watching you for some time and he has faith in your ability to keep the realm stable. You may hear from his little birds from time to time."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "So I have eyes and ears in King's Landing then."

Tywin nodded once, standing from his seat and pacing over to the window. "It's not a bad plan. Though you're focusing a great deal on the country as a whole without remembering the crucial first step."

"The first step?" Arya asked.

"Consolidating power in the west," Tywin said. "Strong ties with your allies mean nothing if your bannermen are unhappy. Your brother's situation in the north must have taught you as much. Some of the lords will have doubts about you and Jaime, especially considering that neither of you plan to go to war over my execution. They will see that as weakness."

"How will I convince them otherwise?" Arya asked, standing as well and venturing toward him.

"I've left a letter for you in the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion agreed to keep it for me," Tywin said. "It bares my seal and handwriting and it insists that I order you and Jaime to stand down. Many will accept that." He turned back to face her. "However, they may not settle completely. Some will test Jaime to see if he is as strong willed as I was. And many of them will try to ignore you all together. There's the problem of the mines as well...but Jaime will explain that to you later. Regardless, if they show opposition, you must strike fast and hard to assure them that House Lannister remains just as strong as it was. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand." Arya swallowed hard. "What about...the rest of the strategy. Did it pass your test?"

Tywin studied her for a long time, an almost sad look in his eyes. Then, by way of answer he returned to the table and picked up his goblet, raising it slightly. Arya flinched when he did. She had felt a sudden urge to smack it out of his hand. But even as she took a step forward, he had already raised the cup to his lips, drinking deeply. It was too late now. It was done.

When the wine was finished, he set the cup on the table. "How long?"

"Not immediately," Arya murmured. "But...not very long either. It should be...painless." Arya lowered her head, shutting her eyes tight as she felt the tears start to rise. "It was... the only thing I could do."

"It was more than I deserve," he said. A heavy silence fell upon the room and he sighed. "Arya, look at me."

She lifted her chin, cracking open her eyes again.

"You've done more than enough for me," he said. "You can leave now, if you'd like. It's done. You don't have to stay."

"Yes..." Arya's voice cracked and she steeled herself to try again. "Yes I do. It's the last name on my list. I have to see it through."

"Your list?" Tywin asked.

Arya turned back toward the window, wrapping her arms tight around herself. "I started it ages ago after my father died. I said the names every night before I went to bed. Names of people I was going to kill one day...when I got the chance. When I got strong enough. I added to that list over time." Her nails dug craters into her palms. "Cersei, Joffrey, Merryn Trant, Illyn Payne, the Mountain, the Hound, Polliver, Walder Frey, Roose Bolton, Ramsay Bolton, Euron Greyjoy." She swallowed hard. "Tywin Lannister."

There was a long silence behind her and she did not turn to look at him. It felt like something of a confession...that he had been on her list all of this time but she could never bring herself to take him off one way or another.

"You added my name when we met, I'm sure," he said.

"Yes," Arya said.

"And now I'm the very last on the list," Tywin said. "You've been working at that list for seven years. Every name ended up dead, one way or another."

Arya nodded once. "I'm more patient than you think, my lord."

His voice held no anger. It did not seem to surprise him at all. Slowly she turned back to face him, and she found him looking at her with almost a sort of...pride. "Then I have faith in your ability to complete anymore lists you might create."

She wished she could smile at that, but her heart hurt too much. "I thought about removing your name...more than once."

"I'm glad you didn't. It means you have some sense. I did nothing to deserve being removed from your list," Tywin said. "I don't think I did anything to deserve your tears either."

She was crying again, wasn't she? She could feel it. She cursed herself inwardly as she hurried to wipe them away. "Maybe not. But...we don't get to choose what hurts us."

"I know," Tywin said. "I've tried."

Of course he had. Tywin had lost much in his many years. Parents, brothers, grandchildren, a daughter, a wife. But he had a reputation for feeling nothing. If he could have chosen what hurt and what didn't...he surely would have cut out what was left of his heart long ago.

"Tell me about her," Arya said. "Your wife."

Tywin seemed surprised at her command, and honestly, Arya was surprised as well. It was impulse that had driven her to say those words.

"You've never asked about her before," Tywin said at last.

"I was always curious. Just too afraid to ask," Arya admitted. "But you're about to die so...if I don't ask now, I'll never know."

"I haven't spoken much about her in years."

"That's because _everyone_ was too afraid to ask."

"I suppose that's true," Tywin crossed to the table, pouring himself the last of wine from the pitcher and drinking long and deep. "What exactly do you want to know?"

"I'm not sure. What was she like?"

"Stubborn," Tywin said.

"That's the first thing you remember?" Arya asked. "Stubborn?"

"It was something I liked about her," Tywin said. "She was one of the few people in this world who was not afraid to question me or fight back when she disagreed. After what happened with the Reynes...sometimes even my own family was not quite sure how to speak with me. She never seemed to have that problem."

"I didn't think you liked being challenged," Arya said.

"It depends on the situation," Tywin said. "And the person. But she was often quite vexing and impossible to argue with. Perhaps because she only argued when she had a point to make. She was an intelligent woman." He tapped his fingers against the edge of his mug. "And she was good with people-even the ones she hated. She never forgot her courtesies."

"She was a proper lady then," Arya said.

"Oh, yes. She excelled at most of the activities of proper ladies," Tywin said. "Though she would rather be damned than keep her mouth shut when she had opinion. Some might have considered that improper."

Arya couldn't help but grin. She seemed an interesting woman. She had been dead for such a long time now...she could not help but wonder what Tywin might have been like if she had lived. "I think I would have liked her."

"She would have liked you," Tywin said, setting down his cup. "There. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Enough, I suppose. I have a better picture of her," Arya said. "I'm sorry...for prying."

Tywin tilted his head to the side, observing her. "I really don't believe that you are."

He was right. She wasn't.

"I...haven't prayed to the seven in some time," Arya said. "But I did always like the idea...that we could see the dead again when it's all over."

"It's a comforting thought," Tywin said, drifting back toward the table in the center of the room. "Though...if the septon's vision of the seven heavens and seven hells is correct...I don't believe I will be seeing her."

Arya swallowed hard as she watched him. He was standing a bit strangely, and she knew the poison must be advancing. "Well, maybe they're wrong. There are so many different gods in this world."

"Which do you believe in?" Tywin asked.

"I'm not sure. After all I've seen, I'm really not sure," Arya said. "But my teacher always said that...Death was the only true god. And the only thing we say to Death is 'not today'."

Tywin considered the phrase. "Interesting. Did he tell you what to say to death if it unavoidable?"

Arya shook her head. "No. I'm afraid not."

"Pity."

Tywin swayed for a moment then, resting his hand on the table to catch himself. Arya rushed forward on instinct to grasp his arm and help him into a chair. He blinked hard as if to clear his vision. It was happening. Seven hells, it was happening.

That thought hit Arya like a punch to the stomach and she sank to her knees in front of him. She wanted to run and find help. She wanted to do _something_ besides watch. Tears of panic pressed at her eyes, and she clutched at his hand as if that would do any good. As if she could keep him there through such a simple gesture.

"Tywin...I..."

"It's all right," he muttered. His voice, despite everything, was still steady. Calm. She had no idea how he could be so calm.

"It's not," Arya choked out. "I'm not...ready for this yet. Please."

"Yes. You are. You'll be all right." She felt his other hand rest against her cheek as the tears began to spill over. "Arya."

She looked up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. He shook his head.

"I'll never be able to understand how I earned your grief. I was one of the worst things to happen to you...even though you were one of the better things to happen to me."

Arya let out something between a laugh and a sob. "You weren't...the worst, my lord. Believe me."

His thumb grazed along her cheek, wiping away a few of the tears. "They've given you quite a few names...since you killed the Night King. Nightslayer. Hero of Harrenhal. But I heard an interesting one some time ago. Winter's Fury. You named your sword that...I believe."

His breathing was labored and Arya hated to hear it. She wanted to tell him to be quiet and rest, but she also wanted to keep talking to him.

"Yes. That's what I named my sword," she said.

"You earned its name then."

"I did, didn't I? And it only took me a few years."

His mouth twitched into a small smile. And gods how it ripped through her to see that expression on his face. "And now comes the harder part. Living up to all of your names as time wears on." He let out a long sigh and seemed to sink back into his chair. "Don't be...too reckless."

"I'll try," Arya mumbled, grasping his hand tighter, as if that could keep him there with her.

He nodded, as if satisfied by her answer. Trying was all that she could promise. She wanted to promise other things as well. That his legacy would continue. That the west would be stable. That she would manage everything. But when she looked up at him again, she realized that his eyes had closed.

Her heart clenched. "Lord Tywin?" He did not respond. "Tywin are you..." her voice cracked. "Please don't...not yet. Tywin, say something else. One last thing. _Anything_."

He was silent and still in his seat. And Arya realized that his hand had gone slack in her grasp. She stared up at him for a long moment, hoping that he might open his eyes again. Hoping he might respond.

And when he didn't she let her head fall to rest against his hand. And she cried. She cried as a daughter might for a father.

Because, despite being so terrible a man, that was what Tywin Lannister was to her in the end.

* * *

Jaime and Tyrion had decided to spend the night drinking together instead of sleeping. It was Tyrion's offer and Jaime had gladly accepted. He had left a note in their room telling Arya where to find them if she wished to join them in their sorrows. He knew she would not be sleeping tonight either.

"Why did she come to speak with Daenerys?" Jaime asked.

"I don't know. The queen hasn't summoned me back to discuss it," Tyrion said. "Though I suspect it might have something to do with father."

"Will Arya's words do any good?" Jaime asked.

"No. Once the sentence is passed, a strong ruler cannot revoke it. That would show too much indecision," Tyrion said. "But maybe Arya is doing what father wished and trying to establish a cordial relationship with the queen."

Jaime's mouth twitched. Arya doing as their father wished...that was a funny thought. Well, it was the end of his life. Perhaps she wanted to give him that gift before he died.

"I don't think I want to go to the execution tomorrow," Tyrion said. "No matter what the method. It's just...not something one really wants to watch."

"If she plans to use dragons, I won't go," Jaime said. "I watched the Mad King burn enough people alive. I won't watch the same happen to our father."

Tyrion shivered. "No...but I think that she will take a more merciful course."

Jaime hoped that she would. He hoped that she would choose to appease new allies instead of the Dornish. "Even if she does...it's hard to imagine watching him die."

"Yes," Tyrion agreed. "I'm sure all men struggle to watch their father's die. Even when their fathers were terrible men. I can't _imagine_ what we would feel like now if our father was any sort of decent person."

"Oh neither can I," Jaime said. "But if our father was any sort of decent person...a lot of things would be different."

"That they would." Tyrion raised his cup and drank deeply.

Jaime sighed. "I suppose...Arya would know. She watched her father die. And Ned Stark was a decent man and father by all accounts."

"Must have been terrible for her," Tyrion murmured. "So young at the time. She probably didn't think her father _could_ die."

Jaime didn't reply. Somehow, he hadn't thought his could die either until recently. Logically he knew that all men died at some point or another. Yet Tywin Lannister still seemed...different from the rest. What a foolish thought that was.

"At least she has experience with this sort of thing," Tyrion said. "Should make it easier this time around."

"I'm not sure it will," Jaime said. "It seems it's just...bringing many bad memories back to the surface for her."

Tyrion nodded once, pouring himself another cup of wine. "Has she been to see him yet? To say goodbye?"

"Not yet. She's been putting it off," Jaime said. "But she'll go. She would never forgive herself if she didn't."

"I'm sure she wouldn't," Tyrion said. "You know...none of us should go tomorrow. We should all stay right here in this room, hiding away."

He was half joking, and yet half not.

"That would show weakness, wouldn't it?" Jaime asked.

"I don't care," Tyrion said. "I think it's better this way. I'd rather leave things as we did in that room than leave them on the executioner's block."

Jaime studied him. "Did you really leave things so well?"

"Not perfectly," Tyrion said. "He didn't exactly fall on his knees and beg forgiveness. I would have _hated_ him for it if he did." He shook his head. "I already hate him a bit...for saying that he didn't blame me for what I am."

His brother's voice cracked slightly and Jaime reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "That's the closest to an apology you could get from father, isn't it?"

"Yes. He's a terrible man in that way." Tyrion drank again. This was his third cup already. "I hate myself for wanting him to live."

Jaime felt the same. He loved his father as most sons would...even despite everything that had happened between them. And his father had lived a longer life than most. He had outlasted nearly all of the lords who reigned in the time of Robert's Rebellion. And it was not as if he was paying for crimes he did not commit. He was guilty. Jaime knew it. But selfishly...he still wanted him to survive.

"It will be over soon, I suppose," Tyrion said. "I wish it already was."

The door creaked open and Jaime looked up to see Arya slipping through the door. Her expression was numb but when he looked closer, he could see that her eyes were red. Had she just come from seeing Tywin?

"My lady," Tyrion said. "Welcome. I'll pour you some wine and you can join us."

She didn't reply. She just managed a single nod but did not make a motion toward the table. Jaime rose and went over to her, resting a hand on her upper arm. She was trembling. Had visiting his father really left her in such a state?

"Arya," Jaime murmured. "Are you all right?"

She nodded again. A lie. Such a terrible lie.

"Listen...you do not have to attend the execution tomorrow," Jaime said. "I know you think it would be weakness, but it's not. We'll say you took ill. You don't have to put yourself through this."

"I already did," she said. Her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her.

"What?" Jaime asked.

"I already...attended it." Arya swallowed hard. "Daenerys gave me permission...to take care of it painlessly."

Jaime took a long moment to process the words. He looked from Arya to his brother as it dawned on him what she was saying. And when he looked back to Arya he saw her numb expression begin to crack.

"He's...he's gone," she muttered. "He's already..."

Her body seemed to collapse beneath the weight of her own words and Jaime caught her in his arms, holding her tight against his chest.

 _Daenerys gave me permission._

That was what she had gone to speak to the queen about. Not saving Tywin...but giving him some painless end. And she had given it to him herself.

 _He's gone._

Jaime slowly sank to his knees, still holding Arya close. Tears that he hadn't cried in some time burned at his eyes. He felt his brother behind him, gripping his shoulder tight in his hand.

 _He's gone._

And now the last of his children bore that fact together.

* * *

 _ **A/N: When I started writing this fic, I wondered if I could make people cry when I killed notoriously awful man Tywin Lannister. It was like a challenge to myself. So let me know if I succeeded!**_

 _ **We passed the one year anniversary of this fic on Tuesday. July 30th. This has been a wild year of updating a fic twice a week every week. And we've still got a bit more to go before the end.**_

 _ **Also, I should mention that after this fic is over, I'm going to take a little break (cause I need one) but I do have lots of ideas for my next fic. All of these ideas are posted in the ending A/N of chapter 104 over on archive and I asked people to let me know which one they were most interested in. So, after you leave a review here, you can also vote over on archive (its easier for me to consolidate all the votes in one place as opposed to two). You don't need an account to comment.**_

 _ **As always, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!**_


	107. Chapter 107: A Wolf in Lion's Clothing

_**A/N: And we are BACK. Sorry, I am defs late with this but this chapter had a lot of little scenes and I was playing around with their order. So many character arcs to wrap up. And of course the mourning for Tywin.**_

 _ **Seriously, everyone's outpouring of support last chapter was overwhelming. You're all so kind and I'm so glad you've come on this journey with me. Nearly at the end now so ENJOY!**_

 **Chapter 107: A Wolf in Lion's Clothing**

It was strange to see his body...when he was already gone.

In the sept of Baelor, he lay on the table at the center, two stones on his eyes, painted as if to pretend he could still see. His robes were black and studded with gold. His hands were rested on his chest as if he were asleep. Peaceful. But he was not breathing and his skin was cold and pale.

Arya did not want to see him like this and yet she kept watch. It seemed worse somehow...to leave him.

Daenerys had announced to the court the previous day that Tywin was given a private execution as acknowledgement for his help during the Long Night. Because the realm was peaceful, he was given a peaceful death. Whatever his sins in life, it was left to the seven to judge.

Or so Tyrion had reported. Arya had stayed in her room trying to save the strength she would need for the funeral. And she could not bear in that moment to hear anyone speak of him.

So she locked herself up with her own memories, playing over his last moments over and over again in her mind. And the moments before that as well. Memories from her seventeenth year. Her sixteenth year. Her fifteenth. All the way back to her twelfth year when she first met him. Because she wanted to remember. Forgetting would be even worse than watching him die.

After her father had lost his head, she had not been so intentional with her memories. Instead, she had dedicated her mind to her list of names of people she meant to kill. She had spent hours turning over their faces and the terrible things they had done and the terrible things she wished to do to them. And in the midst of her hatred, she had forgotten to remember her father. She had lost so much of him over these years. So many words. So many moments. Sometimes it was even hard to recall his face.

She wouldn't make that mistake again. So as painful as it was, she forced herself to remember. From the end to the beginning.

" _Don't be...too reckless."_

" _I'm not going to give you another chance to throw yourself into the jaws of death. This time, you may not come back."_

 _"There will be time to rest after this. This will be the last war for some time. And it will be my last war."_

" _I'm sure you'll manage."_

" _Families like ours must consider the future and our standing in everything we do or we could lose it."_

 _"Reset the board then. If you enjoy winning this foolish game so much."_

" _When I die, show them you will not accept anything less than the same respect."_

 _"I'm glad to see you awake again. Hopefully, this is your last brush with death for some time."_

 _"I had no choice. When someone insults the Lannister name, I respond in kind."_

 _"I thought you were past trying to lie to me,"_

 _"Careful, girl. You're far overstepping. You forget your place."_

 _"A strong name for a strong sword. Make sure you earn it, Arya Stark."_

 _"You told the man a name. That's all. You did not even pay him for his trouble. Let the gods decide if that makes you guilty."_

 _"I don't need a crown to give me power, Lady Arya. The crown is really just another trick. The same as just causes."_

 _You always lift your chin like that when you're nervous. You ought to correct that or soon everyone will be able to tell."_

 _"Come on, girl. Let's hear your brother's choice."_

 _"You should mind that tongue of yours. Being so honest is what gets you Starks in trouble."_

 _"You're lying. Let's try, once again. Tell me your name."_

" _You're too smart for your own good. Has anyone told you that?"_

" _You'll do no such thing. This one's a girl, you idiot."_

She had to remember. Because she would have no more words from him. That was the hardest part. Her memories were all she had now.

Her mother had brought food to her room halfway through the day and they ate together beside the window.

"Were you there?" her mother asked. "During this private execution?"

"Yes," Arya said softly. "I was...the executioner."

Her mother let out a heavy breath at that, reaching up to brush her hair back. "Oh Arya. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Arya asked. "You hated him."

"Most days, yes," Catelyn said. "But you didn't. So I could not hate him completely."

No. Arya didn't hate him. Not even a little bit at the end.

"You still shouldn't have had to put yourself through such a thing," Catelyn said.

"It's fine," Arya said. "I just...couldn't see him beheaded. I couldn't."

"I know, Arya. I know."

Now, the next day, Arya stood in the sept of Baelor, keeping watching over his body. And the one small bit of joy she could take out of this was knowing he had not died on the steps outside.

Jaime stood beside her, silent and still. He had practice standing guard like this, though not over his own father. Arya had apologized profusely for not telling him her plan. She was too afraid someone would try to talk her out of it. Jaime did not seem to resent her though.

" _He died peacefully,"_ he had murmured in her ear. _"That was the best you could give him."_

Yes...there was little else she could do.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there together, as crowds and crowds of lords and ladies came to pay their respects. She did not count the hours but she watched the beams of sunlight shift across the floor. Tyrion stood with them for a while, though he was quite busy with other matters that day as well. 'Putting out fires,' he called it.

"If you are approached by Oberyn, try to keep calm," Tyrion warned Arya. "He is not happy."

No. He wouldn't be. And Arya understood why. "I'll handle him."

"Try not to start any wars when you do," Tyrion said.

Arya recognized many of the other faces who came to pay respects. Genna Lannister for instance. She did not cry as she looked over her brother, but Arya could sense her grief none the less.

"I heard what you did for him at the end," Genna said. "I thank you for that. I don't think I could have stood to see him on his knees."

"Neither could I," Arya said softly.

Genna smiled sadly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm your aunt by marriage. Which means I am also your ally. If you should need me, you have only to ask, lady Arya."

Arya's mouth twitched. "Thank you, Lady Genna. I'll keep that in mind."

The rest of Arya's family came to pay respects too. So many Starks who had, at one point, wanted Tywin dead. Even Arya had wanted him dead a long time ago. And here they were, honoring him on the day of his death. Her mother, her brother, her sister. It was a strange sight to see.

Jon came as well, though he had very few interactions with Lord Tywin. His face was grim but Arya guessed it was not because of Tywin's death. He was thinking of the secret of his name which Tywin knew.

"Before he was arrested, Lord Tywin spoke with me," Jon said. "He asked if I would be willing to...claim my birthright if it was ever necessary. If _you_ asked me." He looked down at Arya. "Would you ask me, Arya?"

She hesitated before she answered. "Only in dire circumstances, Jon. You know I'd never want to put you in danger."

Jon nodded once. "I know. It doesn't matter though. I just want you to know that I am with you, Arya. If you ask, if you deem it necessary...I am with you."

She rested a hand on his arm, squeezing tightly. "Thank you. I hope I never have to."

And she did. She had a plan all carefully constructed in her mind. But she hoped very much that the queen turned out to be wise and kind and loyal and that she would rule the kingdoms well. This wasn't about vengeance for Arya. She wanted to make sure she could protect those she cared about. She didn't want to lose anyone ever again.

When the sun had fallen, the Silent Sisters prepared the body to be transported back to the west, to rest beside the other fallen Lannisters. Arya wished she could go west with him, just to make sure that nothing happened along the way. But she still had business to take care of here.

They slid a lid over his coffin and Arya knew that was the last time she would see him. Now his face would live only in her memories. The thought made her shiver but she did not cry. She had no tears left to cry.

She and Jaime lingered in the darkness of the sept for a while after they removed him, neither wanting to leave. Neither wanted to speak. It felt as if they could go on standing there forever in the comfortable silence, until time stopped and the sept crumbled around them.

"So that's it then," Jaime said at last. "It's over."

"For him," Arya murmured, staring straight ahead at the table where Tywin lain a little while ago. The space felt awfully empty without him. The whole of King's Landing felt emptier without him and it was left to them to fill the space. "I think it's just beginning for us."

* * *

The next morning, Arya called upon Syrio to give her a lesson, because she needed to leave her troubles behind for a little while. She knew that somewhere in the Tower of the Hand, Tywin had left a letter for her. But she could not bring herself to retrieve it. Not yet.

Just for this moment, she needed to forget.

As she sparred with her master, she let her muscle memory take over. She let herself move without thinking as they danced around each other, striking out with wooden practice swords. It really was like moving through water. Easy. Peaceful.

She very nearly scored a hit on Syrio's stomach but he twisted around her and knocked her to the floor. She landed hard on her back and found his staff against her neck.

"Dead," he said.

"I always am with you," Arya said, pushing his sword to the side and getting back to her feet. "Well? Tell me how sloppy I was. Tell me I'm with my trouble."

Syrio smiled. "I do not come here to tell you lies, girl. Today is one of the first times I've ever seen you leave your trouble behind. You were quite excellent."

She blinked. "That is strange. It feels as if I have so many troubles right now."

"Of course you do," Syrio said. "There has never been one moment in your life since I've met you that you have not had troubles. You're just learning to set them aside." He stepped forward, resting a hand on her arm. "It doesn't mean they are not serious. It does not mean the current is not rough. But you swim with it. You do not fight it. And that is smart."

Arya gave him a soft smile. "I guess I'm finally learning then."

The door creaked open and Arya turned to see a familiar figure leaning against the arch way, looking at her with sharp eyes.

"I thought I might find you here," Oberyn said smoothly. "Lady Lannister."

"And does the Lady Lannister want to be found by you?" Syrio asked before Arya could respond. "Because if not...you are not welcome in this place. We are practicing."

"It's all right, Syrio," Arya said. Her voice came out surprisingly calm. "I can handle this. Perhaps we should end early today."

Syrio gave her a little bow. Then he made his way past Oberyn, never taking his eyes off of the Prince of Dorne. Not until he was out of the room. And even then, Arya suspected he might be waiting in the hall.

Arya let the tip of her sparring sword rest against the stone as she studied Oberyn with a steady gaze. "I wondered when you would find me, Prince Oberyn."

"I'm sure you did," Oberyn said. "It's only natural that I would want to speak with Tywin Lannister's executioner."

The words stung but she did not let the hurt show on her face. "Yes. It's only natural."

His smile was sharp as he approached her. "I should have known you would take matters into your own hands, Arya. I was watching you through the court and the trial. Of course you would find a way to give Tywin a painless death even though he doesn't deserve it."

"I asked the Queen permission and she allowed it," Arya said. "I could not have given him that end without her blessing."

"I'm quite sure you would have found a way," Oberyn said.

"We'll never know, I suppose," Arya said. He was stopped in front of her now. His hands were free of any weapon but she could see his dagger clear enough in his belt. She didn't think he would draw it, but Arya was nothing if not careful.

"There is something fitting about him dying of poison," Oberyn said. "I might have chosen that method if the court had declared him not guilty. I would have selected a different poison though. Something a bit slower. More painful. It would still be more than he deserved." His eyes narrowed. "But you had no right to decide on his death, Lady Arya."

"Neither of us did," Arya said. "That honor belonged to the queen...and she chose." She started to walk past him and he turned with her, catching her arm. She turned in one fluid motion, pressing the tip of her wooden sword against his throat. It would not kill him...but she could do some damage to his windpipe if she so chose. Oberyn was unfazed.

"She chose that way because you asked and she desperately wants your alliance. You used that against her but you could have left it alone," Oberyn said. His grip tightened on her arm. "Do you think my sister had a peaceful death? Or her children? Why did their murderer deserve what they never had?"

"He didn't deserve it," Arya said. "I know what he was, Prince Oberyn. And you're right. But I'm selfish and I did not want to watch him suffer." She jerked her arm out of his grip, shoving him back with the tip of her wooden practice sword. "I could have demanded his life, you know. Asked that he be exiled or sent to the wall. I believe the queen would have given me that. But I didn't. I respected her judgement. He died. Isn't that enough for you?"

"Not if it was on his terms," Oberyn said. "If he put you up to this-"

"He didn't," Arya said. "I decided this. It was the _only_ thing I decided. Everything _else_ was on his terms."

Oberyn's eyes narrowed and for the first time he seemed a bit caught off guard. "What?

"I mean the trial," Arya said. "The arrest, the trial, the death sentence. All of that was on his terms, Oberyn. You didn't seem to have a problem with it then."

He blinked and Arya realized that he was genuinely confused. "I don't know what you're talking about. The trial wasn't on his terms. None of it was..."

"You didn't know," Arya realized. She hadn't prepared for that. She had thought for sure Daenerys had discussed her plans with her allies. Surely her deal with Tywin must have come up. "Didn't you wonder why Lord Tywin was so compliant through everything?"

"I assumed it was his refusal to show weakness," Oberyn said. "He never was one to cower."

"No. And he had no reason to cower. Because it was all exactly according to his plan," Arya said. "He cut a deal with Daenerys before the Long Night began. He promised her a peaceful transition onto the throne. He promised to stand trial. He promised to die. So long as she pardoned Jaime and let the Lannisters maintain Casterly Rock. They both kept their bargain. But this...all of it was on his terms."

Oberyn stepped away from her, running a frustrated hand through his hair. She could see some of his belief in Daenerys cracking. Some of his belief in her justice. She had dealt with a devil behind his back and then pretended that she had brought him to heel on her own. Oberyn was smart and surely he must have suspected as much, but he wanted to believe that Tywin was finally beaten.

"I'm sorry," Arya said. "I... thought you knew."

"No," Oberyn said. "If Tywin Lannister was smart, he would have advised the queen not to tell me. And _apparently_ she took his advice more than once."

"It doesn't matter anymore. It's done. The last name crossed off of both of our lists," Arya said. She let her wooden sword lower to the ground. "Now I'm just...tired. I don't want to start a vendetta with you Oberyn. I don't be friends either. I'd just like the West and Dorne to live with each other a bit better than we did before."

Oberyn studied her. "You weren't involved at all in their deal, were you?"

"No," Arya said. "I was as surprised as you when I heard about it."

"Sacrificing himself to set the board for a win," Oberyn muttered. "The bastard might have made a good cyvasse player."

"He was," Arya said softly. "I taught him to play."

He didn't have anything to say to that. She wondered if he could even begin to understand how painful it was for her to give that poison to him knowing it was all she could do. Likely not. He couldn't understand why she could feel anything for such a man. She barely understood it herself. She let her practice sword fall and walked past him. This time he did not try to stop her.

"Safe travels, Prince Oberyn," she said. "Until we meet again."

She knew they would, after all. Even if many years passed before that time...Oberyn Martell was not the kind of man who disappeared completely. The only question would be whether he resurfaced as an ally or an enemy.

Until then, she had other matters to take care of.

* * *

"It was kind of you to give your Father in Law such an end," Varys observed as Arya handed him a goblet of wine. "I know that he was prepared for much worse. However did you convince him to drink it?"

"The queen allowed it, as I said," Arya said. "So there was no harm."

Varys nodded. "No. No harm indeed. The queen clearly recognizes your influence in the realm. It's a good thing. It means that you will be able to gain more than one favor from her. But if you become too powerful she may begin to see you as a threat."

"That's exactly why I deferred to her judgement," Arya said. "If I had gone behind her back, she would have seen it as a challenge. So I didn't."

"So instead you made a sweet plea in order to give the illusion that she determines your actions," Varys said.

"I wouldn't call my plea sweet," Arya sipped at her wine. "But yes. I suppose."

Varys smiled. "I imagine you'll be on you way to the West soon."

"I will," Arya said. "I hope to hear from your little birds while I'm there."

"Not to worry. My little birds are all over Westeros," Varys said. "In the meantime, can my little birds be of service to you here?"

"I think so," Arya said. "Jaime tells me that there are still wild fire cashes under the city. Find them and move them somewhere safe. Away from so many people. Having them still in their place could be temptation to some."

"Undoubtedly," Varys said.

"And meanwhile, I'm sure Daenerys will be naming a new master of coin soon," Arya said. "When she does, remind the master of coin of the crowns debts. The Iron Bank is not to be trifled with if the stories are true. They will still expect payment even though a new ruler sits on the throne."

"If I understand correctly, the crown is also in debt to the Lannisters," Varys said.

Arya shrugged. "Yes. You can remind them of that too if you wish."

Varys grinned. "You're an intriguing woman, Lady Lannister. I think the old Lord of the Rock was right to have faith in you."

"It would be an insult to his memory if I proved him wrong," Arya said. "I look forward to hearing from you Lord Varys."

* * *

"The Vale is still in ruins," her mother told her as they circled the gardens. "The Eyrie all but destroyed and unusable. Rebuilding it will be a mighty task."

"Maybe it would be more sensible to build a keep closer to the ground," Arya said. "At least for now. The Vale will need a seat of power to calm the chaos, and rebuilding the Eyrie would take..."

"Years," Catelyn said. "Perhaps until the next winter. Yes, I know there are other keeps with good strategic positions that are less ruined than the Eyrie. And then there's a question of who will take the seat."

"One of the bannermen of the Vale no doubt," Arya said. "You should use the opportunity to reestablish strong ties between the Riverlands and the Vale. I know you and my aunt were a bit...strained by the end. But the Arryns, Starks and Tullys used to be strong allies in the Rebellion. It should be that way again."

"It will be," Catelyn said. "Its bound to happen. The North and the Riverlands are both neighbors of the Vale. And we're the ones helping them the most despite the fact that our regions are also torn by the Long Night."

There was a note of bitterness in her voice, as if she thought the Queen could be doing more to help with the reconstruction.

"You know if you need help you can reach out to me," Arya said. "I control the Lannister family coffers now. And Lord Tywin did enough damage to the Riverlands during the War of Five Kings...it only makes sense that I repay some of the damages."

Her mother smiled. "Somehow that doesn't sound like something Lord Tywin would consider constructive."

"That's not true at all," Arya said. "I'm forming strong alliances with other regions. He left it to my digression how." She rested a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Just tell Uncle Edmuere and Uncle Brynden that they can ask for my help. I'm a Lannister but I'm also their family."

"I'll tell them," Catelyn said. "It would be nice for the Riverlands to have some peace after all of this war."

Yes, it would. It would be nice for all of Westeros to know peace for a while. And Arya hoped they would. But she would be ready in case the peace failed.

* * *

Steffon had just learned to walk and he spent most of his time stomping around the room on unsteady legs, regularly almost crashing into tables. Arya watched the septa herd him away from a particularly sharp corner as Margaery sat down at the table with her, setting a cup of wine in front of her.

"He has an awful lot of energy," she said. "At least he's a happy baby. He laughs more than he cries."

"He seems strong," Arya said.

"He needs to be," Margaery said. "He's the best hope for the Baratheon line. Any children I have now...they might have the Baratheon name but not Baratheon blood."

"You will need to have more children then?" Arya asked.

"Of course," Margaery said. "Its terrible to say it, but children die all of the time. I can't rest all of my hopes on the one. They Lords of the Stormlands will wants spares. I'm sure many will come forward with offers of marriage."

"But there's a danger there too, isn't there?" Arya asked. "They'll want any of your children to take their names. And then those children could be a threat to Steffon."

"You read my fears well," Margaery said. "I don't know any of the Lords of the Stormlands well enough to trust them. And I know how men are when they see a chance to climb for power. I won't let any of them take my son from me."

"You need a suitor with no need to force his name on your children then," Arya said. "Someone with little ambitions who would be kind to Steffon."

"Yes, that would be ideal," Margaery said. "Seems it would be hard to find such a man."

Arya clasped her hands together. "Have you spoken at all with my brother Jon?"

"Your bastard brother?" Margaery asked. "Or...I suppose he's been legitimized now. Jon Stark, is it?"

"Yes," Arya said. "He's one of the kindest men I've ever met. Comes from a good family, but as he's a bastard he could not _really_ assert his name over yours. And a Stark and Baratheon alliance...that does call back to the days of the Rebellion."

Margaery tilted her head to the side. "You're up to something. What are you planning exactly?"

 _To match a strong politician with my Targaryen brother and cultivate a strong line of heirs in case Daenerys goes mad,_ Arya thought. But she knew she could not say that here. There were too many ears.

"I can't tell you at the moment," Arya said. "But it's something that would work very much to your advantage. Do you trust me?"

Margaery studied Arya for a long time before she nodded. "Yes. I trust you." She sighed. "Your brother _is_ quite good looking. I suppose it would be amiss to speak with him before he goes north. He's a hero in the Long Night after all. I haven't thanked him." She stretched. "Though I can't guarantee he'll like me, Arya."

Arya smiled. "What man wouldn't like you?"

* * *

Shortly after the funeral, Arya was forced to say more goodbyes, but at least these were of a less permanent sort. Her first goodbye was to Sansa.

"And so we part again," Sansa said. "I'll miss you, Arya."

"I'll miss you too," Arya said. Her sister had no choice but to leave sooner than everyone else. If she did not go now, the baby I might come before she reached High Garden. Arya met her in the stables to see her off. Her husband Willas was helping with the horses as she and Sansa stood off in the corner, watching. "How are you adjusting to the Reach?"

"Well enough. It is a beautiful place," Sansa said.

"And what about the people," Arya said. "Do they like you? You are an outsider, so it would not be surprising if more than one of them resented you for marrying Willas."

"More than one does, I'm sure," Sansa said. "But I'm working on it. I've learned a great deal from Lady Olenna. And I mastered courtesy a very long time ago."

"I know that much," Arya said. "I hope the Lannisters and the Tyrells can continue to have a close alliance. We are neighbors and its worked well for us in the past."

"I will make sure that we stay in an alliance," Sansa said.

"Good," Arya said. "I also wondered...that trick you pulled with the women in the north during the Northern Civil war..."

"What about it?" Sansa asked.

"It was very helpful then. It could be helpful in the future," Arya said. "Women often go unseen in this world. They hear interesting things."

"What things would you want them to hear?" Sansa asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Arya said. "There's no conflict on the horizon...I just want to be prepared. I don't want anything like the northern civil war to catch us off guard ever again."

"No. I don't want that either," Sansa glanced at Arya. "I'll see what I can do. And we'll keep in touch."

Arya smiled, carefully embracing her sister. "I'll visit you in the Reach. I'll need to meet my niece."

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you so sure I'll have a girl?"

"I'm not sure," Arya said. "Just a feeling. You'd be a good mother to a daughter."

"Thank you," Sansa said. "Take care of yourself, Arya. Try not to hold up the sky by yourself."

"I don't need to," Arya said. "I have my family to help."

* * *

More of Arya's family left shortly after that. First, Jon, who agreed to accompany Margaery on a detour to the Stormlands before headed north.

"I told her that the Night's Watch was all but broken and that I was concerned for their future even though I was no longer one of them," Jon said. "She believes that the seven kingdoms should be vigilant about threats to the north from now on. I figured that since she was queen until recently, she has enough influence to help."

"That makes sense," Arya said, trying not to smile. "It would be wise for you to visit the Stormlands and the other southern regions asking for help. And perhaps you can visit the west on your way north. It will be nice to see a familiar face."

"I'll try," Jon said, ruffling her hair. "Until then, little sister."

Only a few days later, it was time to say goodbye to her mother and her other brother.

"I'll see you again soon," her mother promised. "Robb may be going north but I'm on my way to the Reach. And I'm sure you will be stopping by as soon as Sansa has her baby."

"I will," Arya said. None the less, she hugged her tightly. "Thank you for being there for me. Through all of...this. You kept me grounded."

"It's my job as your mother," Catelyn murmured in her ear. "And I missed so many years of you growing up. I'm making up for lost time."

Robb stepped up to them as they pulled back from their hug. For a moment, he seemed a bit stiff. As if he wondered whether or not Arya resented him for not being able to save Tywin. She gave him a smile and leapt into his arms as if they were children again, throwing her arms around his neck. "I'll miss you," she murmured. "Make sure you write often. If there's anything you need. Let me know."

"I will," he said, embracing her tightly. "The same goes for you. Whatever happens in the future, whatever you need...I'm with you."

Yes, Arya knew that. The north was the one place that she had no uncertainty about at all. Even if all other alliances fell away, the Stark and Lannister alliance would remain strong. What a funny thing that was.

Robb glanced over Arya's head as he set her down. "Ser Jaime. Come to see us off?"

Arya turned to see Jaime quickly approaching. He had his sword unbuckled from his belt and clasped his hand as if he hadn't had time to put it on in his rush. "Something like that. I actually have something for you, Lord Stark. A parting gift." He held out his sword hilt first. "This should have gone to you a long time ago. But I know my father wouldn't have approved of me giving it away."

Arya's eyes widened as she realized what he was doing, but Robb still seemed confused. "I...you're sword? Why should it have gone to me?"

"Because it's made from one half of your father's sword," Jaime said. "My father had it melted down into two blades. We lost our own ancestral blade some time ago you see. And my father never balks from making use of a tragedy. But well... Ned Stark would hate to see me carrying half of the Stark family sword."

Robb seemed absolutely bewildered by the gift. He reached out slowly, drawing the blade from its scabbard and looking it over. "This is...truly half of my father's sword?"

"Yes," Jaime said. "And now its yours."

Robb looked from the blade to Jaime. "What happened to the other half?"

"Ah. I'm sorry, I thought you knew," Jaime said. "Your sister has been carrying it for some time. Winter's Fury, the sword my father gave her as payment for saving his life. That's the other half."

Robb looked to Arya and she swallowed hard. "Sorry. I should have told you but I...I was worried you might want to claim it if you knew."

Robb shook his head. "I wouldn't, Arya. Father would hate to see his sword in the hands of a Lannister...unless it's you of course." He looked back to Jaime. "You truly mean to give this up?"

"No family needs two valyrian steel swords. That's just greedy," Jaime said. "It's yours. Pass it down to your children. And Arya's blade will pass to ours. I think that's fair."

Robb nodded once. "Thank you...Ser Jaime." He held out his arm. "I hope our families will remain on good terms so long as the swords remain."

Jaime clasped his arm in his. "So do I." He turned and gave Catelyn a little bow. She was looking on him with some fondness for perhaps the first time. "Lady Stark. I hope the roads are kind."

"The same to you," Catelyn said. "Take care of my daughter...whenever she can't take care of herself at least."

Jaime smiled. "I plan to."

When they were gone and Jaime and Arya were left alone in the courtyard, she glanced up at him. "I...didn't know you were going to do that."

"I've wanted to give him that sword for some time but I was too afraid of father's reaction," Jaime said. "But I don't have to fear that anymore."

"Thank you," Arya said. "My father always meant for Robb to have his sword. I felt guilty keeping this half for myself."

"You shouldn't," Jaime said. "Your father would not object to it. He would be proud if he could see you now."

"Even though I'm a Lannister?" Arya raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Even then. That's how exceptional you are, my lady," Jaime said with a little bow.

She gave him a shove. Then a kiss. The last few days had been very difficult. But knowing that her two families were at peace...that made things much easier.

* * *

A few days later, Arya climbed the Tower of the Hand for what she imagined would be the last time in a while. Tyrion was there, writing a letter when she arrived. He glanced up and gave her a small smile before returning to his writing.

"The Dornish left this morning. Oberyn was in one piece it seems."

"Yes," Arya said. "We did speak but neither of us wanted to start a war."

"Wise decision," Tyrion said.

Arya couldn't help but wonder if Oberyn had confronted the queen about her deal with Tywin. Or had he hid that knowledge away in his heart for later use. Either way, she was sure she had driven a wedge between the red viper and the queen. An even larger wedge than she had intended.

Arya pulled at the three fingers of her right hand. "Before he died...Lord Tywin said there was a letter here for me?"

"Yes," Tyrion said. "On the shelf. He said you'll know which one it is."

Arya's brow furrowed as she walked to the shelf, not sure what that meant. But she stopped when she saw two letters stacked beneath a Cyvasse piece. The king with the cracked crown. She felt something between a sob and a laugh well up within her and she shoved them both down, taking the letters and pacing to the other end of the room. She sat herself in the corner where she had often studied while Tywin was busy with matters of state. And she read his last words to her.

 _Arya,_

 _The second letter is meant for the lords of the west. It is written in my hand explaining that my death was necessary in order to preserve the Lannister family. They are meant to serve you and Jaime as loyally as they did me. They will honor my words and seal. If they do not, treat it as if they were defying me. Strike fast. Strike hard._

Arya almost had to laugh at that first paragraph. He opened with orders, having no time for soft sentiments. That was very like him.

 _I know you have your doubts about whether or not you are ready. But I have every confidence in you, and you know I do not give my confidence lightly. I would not have agreed to die if I was not sure the west was in good hands. Make sure the Lannister legacy is secure. That should be simpler now that you and Jaime are on good terms again. And the lords of the West will soon expect an heir._

Arya had no doubt of that. But she knew at this rate wouldn't be long before she and Jaime provided one. That was a strange thing to think about. But the next words she read were stranger still.

 _I am sorry._

Sorry. Had she ever heard Tywin Lannister apologize before? About anything? Just reading those words in his hand made her shudder.

 _I am sorry. When I planned my death, I knew it was best for the Lannister family. I didn't realize that you would grieve for me. I think you've had entirely too much grief in your life because of me and my family. Forgive me for this then. I should have known. All of my children have accused me of favoring you above the rest of them. I'm not sure of the validity of their claims, but I did think of you as a daughter. And I am sorry to leave you._

 _Earn your new titles, Arya. And if the dead can meet again, I hope we do not meet for a very long time._

 _-Tywin Lannister_

He did not sign with any of his titles, for he had given them up. And by that point, Arya would not have been able to read them. Her eyes were blurred with tears as she clutched the letter tight in her hands.

"Arya?" Tyrion had circled around his desk to go to her side. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She quickly wiped away her tears and stood, holding the open and sealed letter close to her chest, along with the broken king. "I should go. Jaime and I are leaving for the west tomorrow. There's a lot to pack. And...we both have a lot of work to do."

"Yes, I'd say we do," Tyrion said, glancing down at the letter. "If I know Father, I'm sure he gave you enough orders to keep you very busy."

Arya cracked a smile. "He always does."

* * *

The morning they left King's Landing, the fields were covered in a fine mist. The sun was barely up, but Tyrion came to bid them farewell before they went.

"Don't be strangers," he said. "And write as often as you can. I'll do the same."

"We will," Arya said, bending to pull Tyrion into a hug. "Take care of yourself. And the kingdom. That's your job now."

"That it is." He pulled back from her. "I'll do my best."

"The pin suits you, little brother," Jaime said. "I hope we see you again soon."

"You will," Tyrion said. "King's Landing and Casterly Rock aren't so far away. And I'm sure the queen will want to keep in touch."

Jaime exhaled, kneeling in front of his brother and drawing him into a hug as well. "Goodbye for now."

"Yes, for now. Safe travels."

With the last of their goodbyes done, they set out along the Gold Road with the remaining Lannister soldiers in the capital. It felt strange leaving King's Landing behind. It had been Arya's home for the last seven years. Every time she left she knew she would eventually return. And while she knew that this would not be the last time she saw the Red Keep...this felt much more permanent.

"Are you all right?" Jaime asked, nudging his horse up beside hers.

Arya nodded absently. "Yes. I am."

"It's strange, I know. Going back to Casterly Rock for good," Jaime said. "I think I spent longer in this place than the west."

"So have I," Arya said. She tore her eyes away from the great city. "But I'm looking forward to a change of scenery."

Then, without another word, she nudged her horse into a gallop. Away from the keep which held so many memories, both wonderful and terrible and toward the West. Toward Casterly Rock. It was not a place made for a wolf. But she had spent long enough amongst lions that she knew how to play their games.

She would manage.

* * *

 _ **A/N: We are almost at the close. All that is left is the epilogue which I will upload on Thursday. And then...well fuck, I guess the fic will be complete won't it? That's insane.**_

 _ **Not over yet though! One more chapter. Until then, I decided I should share the link to the spotify playlist I made for this fic. Its all very organized by emotion rather than order of which things happened in the story. So sad songs are with sad songs, happy with happy, angry with angry. And it alllll flows. Not all of them totally fit in lyrics, they just have the vibe. And some fit perfectly with lyrics. Either way enjoy, just remove the spaces since links are weird on this stupid website!**_

 ** _open. spotify playlist/ 3YtRb9 lNAT5Se6Fn 7FJ0M0?si=lq67wgxW RPiSq-zjRpN gfQ_**

 ** _Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time for the last time :)_**


	108. Epilogue

_**A/N: We're at the end. God, I'm crying just typing this. Long author's note at the end so stick around but...until then, enjoy!**_

 **Epilogue**

The snow had started to melt.

It had been five years since the end of the Long Night. Five years of a hard, cold winter. But all things considered, those years were not as bad as the Citadel had suspected. It would have been longer, they claimed, if the dead had not been defeated at Harrenhal. But for their efforts, the living were granted a bit less suffering.

It was good to see the grass making itself known again-little spots of green popping up through the white-and watching the rivers run clear. Arya was even glad to see the mud on the banks of the God's Eye. The ground was no longer frozen and would soon be able to take a new harvest.

The God's Eye itself had not been frozen since that day five years ago when Arya plunged a knife into the Night King's once beating heart. The Children of the Forest remained on the Isle of Faces, though their numbers were fewer, and their magic kept the water flowing.

And Bran was there too.

She had seen him only in wolf dreams-a face in a great tree that resembled her brother. She did not know if he was living or dead or something in between. She had waited too long to find out.

So long as they were headed north, she knew that she had to go to him.

She crossed the lake alone in a small row boat, slowly and steadily, knowing the island might turn her back but hoping that it wouldn't. Every once and awhile she stopped to glance across the water. Harrenhal stood out against the blue sky, a blasted ruin. The site of the Battle of the Long Night.

The site of where it all began for her.

She had thought about going there too. Walking about the flow stone yard, climbing what remained of the towers. Finding that little room where she once played cupbearer. But she had decided against it. That time was long passed now, and there were some ghosts she did not yet want to face.

The ghosts on the Isle of Faces would be difficult enough.

The island did not push her back. In fact, the lake did not even stir as she crossed. And before she knew it, her little boat had slid up onto the shore, wedging itself between two large roots.

Arya hopped out onto the bank, feeling a rush of memories come over her. It was colder the last time she was here, and there were fewer trees. Now the grove was so plentiful the trunks seemed to form a solid wall in places. And they all had faces and eyes that watched her as she made her way up the hill.

The shadows had eyes as well-the Children of the Forest spying on her from the gaps between the trees. She did not trouble them and she was careful to keep her hands out and extended so that they could see she was unarmed. Though she was sure they knew she was not a threat. They had all seen her kill the Night King with the very dagger which rested at her hip.

To her right, one of the shadows stirred, and Arya turned to see a familiar face loping out of the woods. She smiled, dropping to her knees as her wolf nudged her huge head into her hands.

"Hey girl..." she murmured. "Did I leave you here too long? Did you have enough to eat?" She stroked a hand through Nymeria's fur. "I'm sorry. I should have come back for you earlier, shouldn't I? Forgive me."

Nymeria nudged her face with her nose. She seemed healthy. Strong. Her time with the Children had clearly not weakened her. Arya just hoped she hadn't mistaken any of them as prey.

Arya straightened again. "Come on. Will you see him with me?"

Nymeria let out a low whine and trotted ahead of Arya up the hill. She followed, trying to ignore a growing ache in her chest and the burn on the skin of her throat, which throbbed with the memory of her last battle here.

At last they reached the top of the hill, and Arya found herself looking up at the most splendid weirwood tree she had ever seen. Its trunk was thicker than it should have been considering it had only been growing five years and its branches formed a canopy above the others, practically blotting out the sun with its red leaves. And at the center of the tree, she saw her brother's face.

He seemed almost carved from wood, for his skin was as pale as the bark. His eyes were rolled back into his head and there was a red mark where his heart once beat, still dripping down the trunk even five years later. Arya shuddered at the sight of him, pushing down her tears. She knelt in front of him.

"It's been awhile," she murmured. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I came in the wolf dreams I suppose. But that doesn't really count." She swallowed hard. "What you did...Bran. Everything you sacrificed. I hope you can see that it was worth it. The seven kingdoms are recovering but they're at peace for now. I hope they will stay that way. Five years without war has been...a welcome change of pace." She looked up at him. "I wish I had your sight sometimes. So I could see what's coming. I wish I could peer into the future and know exactly what I need to do. But more than that, I wish I had you. I wish I had been faster."

He did not respond. She had not expected him to, but even so the silence hurt. Above her a raven cawed as she stood, stepping forward. She rested a hand over the red spot on Bran's heart.

Then suddenly...falling. She was falling, but not to the ground. Her mind seemed to tumble backward into blank space and for a long moment, Arya had nothing to hold onto. No solid ground. She was plunging down. Down. Down.

Until she wasn't. She opened her eyes and found herself standing in front of Bran again. Only this time, Bran was not wrapped up in the tree. He was standing beside it. _Standing_ on his own two feet, resting a hand against the bark.

It was not real, Arya knew. She had only to look around at the woods which seemed to glow with a strange, pale green light. It was peaceful here and the air smelled sweet. But seeing Bran standing in front of her, smiling like he once did made her weak in the knees. "Bran..." She took a step toward him. "This is...an illusion."

"Yes. An illusion or a dream." Bran looked up from his tree. "Do you have dreams, Arya?"

"Every night," she said.

"Strange ones?"

"Sometimes," she said. "But that's to be expected after everything I've seen."

"Perhaps," he said. "You should listen to your dreams when you can. Sometimes they do have meaning. But you will have to decide which ones are real."

"Do you still dream?" Arya asked. "In your tree. Do you still see the past, present and future?"

"I see the past laid out like a very long story carved into stone," Bran circled around the trunk, letting his fingers drag across the wood. There was a gap in the tree, almost like a seat. As if Bran had stepped right out of the wood to greet her. "And I see the present. So many moments happening right now. But the future is...covered in shadows."

"That doesn't sound promising," Arya asked.

"It may not be good or bad," Bran said. "It's been like this ever since I died. Perhaps the future is only meant for the living. Though...I find that the Red Priests obscure my vision of the present from time to time."

Arya's brow furrowed. She knew about the Red Priests. More and more of them had come flocking to Westeros since Daenerys was crowned, declaring her to be Azor Ahai, the one who would light the way and purge the non-believers in a sea of flame. The Queen was grateful for their loyalty, but she had no intention to set aside the faith of the seven. That would lose her a great deal of support, after all.

"Why would the Red Priests obscure your vision?" Arya asked.

"The Old Gods and the Red God...are very different. Theirs is a magic of fire. The Old Gods are of earth and water and winter," Bran said. "They rarely work in tandem. It was a rare thing...when you and Jon rose from the dead. You kept a hold of yourselves. That is not...usually what happens to those raised by the Red God."

No. Arya remembered Berric telling her as much. When one was raised by the Lord of Light, they were different from before, left to ceaselessly pursue the task for which they had died. In many ways, it was a shell of their former existence. Jon and Arya had escaped that...but only because of their wolves.

The idea of the red priests obscuring Bran's vision was concerning for more than one reason. It was after the arrival of one priestess from Volantis that Queen Daenerys bore a child. Which was strange, because one of Varys' little birds had told Arya that Daenerys was infertile. Was it possible that the Lord of Light had given her a miracle as well? The miracle to produce life again?

"Perhaps," Bran said, reading her thoughts. "I cannot say for sure. But magic that can raise one from the dead...can do many things."

"It's a question of whether those things are good for Westeros, I suppose," Arya said.

"That is up to you to sort out. The future belongs to you now." Bran sighed, coming to stop in front of the tree again-in front of his empty seat. "Even though you see me now...don't mistake me for one of the living, Arya. I'm something else now."

"I know," she murmured. "But at least I could speak with you. I wish...I could speak with the other dead."

Bran gave her a soft smile. "Take care of our family. Make sure that they do not join me. And be prepared."

Arya opened her mouth to reply but before she could, she was falling again, tumbling through empty space away from her brother. She reached out, wanting so desperately to grasp his hand. But her fingers only drifted through icy mist.

Her eyes snapped open and she found herself lying on her back in front of Bran's tree, her hand outstretched toward the sky. Tears trailed from her eyes and she slowly lowered her hand to wipe them away. A nose nudged her other hand and she became aware of Nymeria lying beside her, her tail wagging lazily back and forth.

"I'm all right, girl." Arya slowly sat up, looking up at Bran's tree. It was tempting...to try to go back to him. But she knew better than that. He would not want her to linger with him in that strange grove of trees.

She stood, brushing herself off, forcing herself to turn away from the great tree and look down at her wolf. "All right. Ready to go?"

* * *

The small Lannister caravan had found a place not far from Harrenhal to set their tents while Arya attended to business. It did not take her long to rejoin them. Her horse was a bit spooked by Nymeria, but she was able to calm the beast with a few whispered words.

"She's a friend to you," Arya murmured. "My friends are her friends. Don't worry."

The caravan came into sight and Arya spotted Jaime at the far end of the camp, sitting outside of the largest tent. Two smaller shapes stood in front of him, a two year old boy helping a one year old girl to walk. They all looked up when Arya approached and the boy beamed and laughed as she leapt off her horse. For a moment he looked like he might run to her, but then he remembered he was still holding onto his sister's hand and carefully lowered her to the ground before hurrying over.

"Momma."

"I told you I wouldn't be gone long," she caught him up in her arms. He was at the age where she was no longer terrified to hold him. Babies seemed so fragile, but after a few years they seemed to take more of a human shape.

Tybolt was past his second year, golden haired and green eyed, and lanky for his age. A Lannister child through and through, which had pleased the Lords of the West. It was fitting to follow that Lannister naming custom for him, and Tybolt seemed to suit him.

Elissa had more of the north in her. Dark brown hair with a shade of Tully auburn when the sunlight hit it right. And clear grey eyes. She could only take a few steps at a time and say a few words, but she was healthy and strong.

Naming them had been the hardest thing, for names had so much weight in Westeros. Arya had thought of naming them for those she had lost. Of course she had. Her brother had done the same with his children. But Arya did not want to curse her children with the names of the dead when they were still living. She feared dooming them to the same fate when they grew up. Better to pick the names of strangers from far back in history and give them a chance to make their own mark.

She had thought of naming Tybolt something else when he was born. But that name would have been a terrible burden for any Lannister child.

"Dog," Elissa said, pointing forward. Arya turned to see Nymeria loping forward, her eyes curious.

"It's a wolf, Elissa." Arya went over to her, kneeling down and setting Tybolt on the ground. "This is Nymeria."

Tybolt looked wide eyed from Arya to the wolf, gripping hard onto her sleeve. He was uncertain of such a large creature with so many teeth.

"It's all right," Arya said, beckoning Nymeria closer. "You can touch her."

Tybolt hesitated and Arya grasped his little wrist in hers, helping him to reach out and rest a hand against Nymeria's coat. His eyes widened at her softness and he began carefully stroking her shoulder all on his own. Nymeria lay down in front of him, resting her large head against the ground and he beamed, beckoning for Elissa to join him. She did, crawling quickly across the ground to pet what she believed to be a very large dog. There was no fear in her at all.

"You found her then," Jaime said, approaching.

"Yes." Arya straightened. "I should have gone back for her years ago. I was just..."

"Worried. I know." Jaime wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Did you...go to Harrenhal as well?"

Arya shook her head. "No. It doesn't feel like the right time."

He didn't press her on that. "So business here is done?"

"Almost," she said. "I still have to find the Brotherhood but they're close. Can you manage the children for a little longer?"

"That's why we have septas. To make sure I don't lose any of them." He grinned. "Go on. We'll be waiting."

"Going again?" Tybolt called out from where he sat beside Nymeria. She had rolled onto her back, like the terribly fearsome predator that she was.

"Not for long, Ty," Arya said. "Nymeria will look out for you while I'm gone."

"Do you trust them with the wolf more than me?" Jaime asked.

Arya smirked. "She does have an awful lot of teeth to defend them against attackers."

"And an awful lot of teeth to eat them if she gets hungry."

She gave him a small shove. "You can work together then. So long as no one dies while I'm away."

"Yes, my lady. I guarantee no one will die." He gave her a small bow.

She smiled and returned to her horse. Truth be told, Jaime was a very good father. He never really got the chance to be a parent to his first three children. It would have been too dangerous for him to be present in their lives. Someone could have found out his terrible secret. But this time he could claim the children as his own, and he loved them dearly. He had actually been better than Arya at holding the children when they were babies. She was afraid to drop them every time the septas passed them into her arms. Jaime, even with one hand, had no trouble at all.

The idea of parenthood had rather terrified Arya for a long while. She did not trust herself to be a good mother. She worried about being around too much or too little. She worried about hurting them. She worried about them hating her one day. And those fears had not gone away...but the joys were beginning to outweigh them.

* * *

The Brotherhood operated out of many villages scattered throughout the Riverlands and spent most of their time these days helping the smallfolk recover from the many wars they had suffered. Arya always came to one particular village when she passed through the Riverlands with a small sack of money to help with their efforts. She felt honor bound to assist them. If not for their old leader Berric, she would not be alive. And he had wanted the Riverlands to be safe again.

The Lannister family had done its part in destroying the Riverlands. Arya intended to make things right.

The smallfolk stared when she road into town and some of them retreated into their homes. But one familiar face did not balk at the sight of her.

"Lady Lannister," Gendry stepped out of his forge, returning his hammer to his belt. The burns he had suffered during the Battle and Harrenhal were still evident on one side of his face and neck, but they had healed as well as they could. "We weren't expecting you for another few days."

"We made good time," Arya swung off of her horse. "You look well. How are things?"

"The Riverlands are doing well enough. We're relieved that winter is coming to a close," Gendry said. A few more of the Brotherhood drifted out of the shadows to flank Gendry, but they did not go for their weapons. They knew Arya was not a threat.

"That's good news for everyone," Arya passed a bag of gold to Gendry. "Here. Put it to good use."

"Thank you m'lady," he said. "We always do."

"You don't have to call me 'm'lady', Gendry," Arya said.

"You're the Lady of Casterly Rock," he said. "I _absolutely_ do."

"Yes, but you're also an old friend," Arya said. "You get some privileges."

"Then I consider it a privilege to continue to annoy you without repercussion, m'lady," Gendry said.

"Careful Gendry," one of the other Brotherhood laughed. "She'll take your fingers."

"With the same blade she used to kill the Night King?" Gendry raised an eyebrow. "I would consider it an honor."

Arya sighed, but a small smile crossed her lips. It seemed her reputation was becoming known in the Riverlands as well. She hadn't really _meant_ for it to become a reputation. The first time, she took two fingers from one of Lord Serret's nephews for thievery. She later did the same to a young lord who chose to comment on her and Jaime's lack of fingers at court.

 _Not even three hands between you, and you expect us to bow quietly?_

He had been protesting Arya's choice to call in the debts of his family, which they had been cleverly hiding from the newly established lord and lady of Westeros, thinking that they would let them get away with it. She severed two fingers from his left hand in front of the court. Her Father in law had told her to strike fast and hard after all, and that moment had made an impression.

 _There. Now we have enough fingers for three hands. And if you don't pay your debts, my lord, I'll take your good hand. Then my husband and I will have a full set._

Suddenly, that had become her calling card. For lords who tried to undermine her or go behind her back or plot to turn Jaime against her, she took two fingers as a warning. They had one chance. On the second she would not just take fingers.

It served two purposes, of course. It cemented her reputation as a strong leader in the west, and it was something of a black mark on those lords who had tried to challenge her. Anyone could see their treachery. They had merely to look at their three fingered hands.

And yet, the punishment was still far more merciful than her predecessor would have given for some of their slights. She had not drowned any families in their halls. She hadn't even executed some of the lords for offenses that would have earned them an execution five years ago. But the threat that she might...that kept them all in line.

"I won't be taking any fingers today," Arya said. "You aren't my bannermen at any rate. You have sworn me no oath of loyalty."

"Good news then," Gendry said.

"Lady Lannister!"

Arya turned to see a girl riding up on a horse. It took her a moment, but she recognized her face. Mary. The girl from the family nearly robbed by Lord Serret's nephew.

"Mother said she saw you passing through and I had to see for myself," the girl swung off the horse. "I'm sorry. Forgive me." She curtsied quickly. "You probably don't remember."

"Mary, yes?" Arya asked. "I remember. That horse is the one we gave to your family, isn't it?"

"Yes. She rides very well." Mary stroked her muzzle. She looked absolutely delighted that Arya had remembered her name. "Though...mother says its only right that I return her if you wish her back. To pay the debt."

Arya smiled. "That's kind of you to offer. But I already have a horse, and I wouldn't take her from you. It seems you're taking good care of her. She's yours to keep. There is no debt, Mary."

The girl beamed, dipping into another hasty curtsy. "Thank you m'lady. I'll keep taking care of her as long as I can."

"See that you do." Arya swung back onto her horse, glancing back to Gendry. "I'll see you again I'm sure. Until then, take care of yourself."

"Aye. You too, m'lady," Gendry said with a nod.

* * *

Arya made it back to their little caravan by sundown. The septa had already put the children asleep in their tent and Jaime was sitting outside on a large rock, watching the horizon. He looked up when she swung off of her horse and tied her to the post with the others.

"Did everything go well?"

"Terribly," Arya said. "I was set upon by bandits."

"Those poor bandits," Jaime said with a grin. "Was that Gendry boy among them? The Brotherhood I mean, not the bandits."

"Depending on who you ask, the Brotherhood are bandits," Arya said. "And yes, Gendry was. But I'm not sure he's young enough to be called a boy, Jaime."

"He's younger than me," Jaime said. He was pretending to be uninterested but she could hear the slightly strained note in his voice. "And how was it seeing your old friend?"

"Wonderful," Arya said flatly. "He confessed his undying love for me. I'm going to run away with him and live in the woods."

Jaime gave her a look, reaching up to grasp her wrist and pull her down to him. "Not if I stop you."

She landed in his lap, already laughing. "Best of luck with that. I'm the Hero of Harrenhal and I have exactly three more fingers than you."

"Details," he said, leaning down to kiss her. She let him, running her crippled hand through his blonde hair. The kiss lingered for a long moment and when he pulled back, she sighed.

"All right. Fine. I'll stay, I suppose."

Jaime grinned. "Glad to hear it."

She shifted to sit beside him on the rock. "Did you know my 'two fingers' reputation has spread to the Riverlands now?"

"Of course it has, Arya," Jaime said. "You're the Lady of Casterly Rock and you killed the Night King. Every rumor about you is going to spread."

"I suppose. Apparently it's an honor to have fingers removed by me _because_ I killed the Night King."

"That's a nice touch. You should tell that to any uncooperative bannermen."

"I should, shouldn't I?" Arya shrugged. "Of course they wouldn't be around to tell if...someone else was in charge."

"True enough," Jaime said. "I'm not arguing with your methods. They are efficient. I still remember when some of the lords started coming to me in private, hoping that I was the easy one between the two of us."

"I remember that too," Arya said. "And then they discovered we're both the hard one."

"That we are," Jaime circled an arm around her shoulder and she rested slightly against him. "And... what about the Isle of Faces. How did things go there? Good or bad?"

"I'm...not sure," Arya said. "A bit of both, I suppose."

"Did you find Bran?" Jaime asked.

"Yes. He spoke to me," Arya said. "He's not...alive. He's something else now, trapped in that tree. But I had a vision of him, almost like a dream."

"And what did he tell you?" Jaime asked. He was unfazed by the notion of her having visions. She could warg into the mind of her wolf and her brother had practically ascended to godhood. Visions were almost normal. "Is the future dark and full of terrors as some of those red priests say?"

"He doesn't know," Arya said. "He said the future is obscured from him. Covered in shadow. So...I suppose it is dark and full of terrors then."

Jaime's brow furrowed. "Does he know why?"

"He has a few theories," Arya said. "Red God magic and Old god magic don't mix. Or it could be that he can only see what has happened...now that he's not fully alive."

"The fact that he doesn't know makes me nervous," Jaime said.

"Me too. But...we'll be prepared for whatever it is, I'm sure," Arya said softly.

They had to be. They had children now. It was one thing to face a burning world when one was alone. But she did not want a single flame to touch her son or her daughter or any other children she might have.

She knew what it was to grow up in the midst of too many wars.

* * *

It took another fortnight to reach Winterfell. The snows still lay thick around the castle, but the chill of the air was not quite so sharp. Arya felt her spirits lift, seeing the home of her childhood. She had made the Rock her home over these past five years. But it would never be Winterfell. She knew that.

Nymeria seemed just as happy to be home and she let out a howl as she darted past their caravan. In the distance, Arya could see the other dire wolves circling the keep to meet her and welcome her back-a lost member of the pack they had never forgotten.

"Gods they are huge," Jaime observed from his horse. "If you bring your wolf back with us, the lords will be terrified of you."

"I don't need a wolf to make them terrified. A knife is enough." Arya sighed. "Besides, I think Nymeria would be happier up here."

 _And then at least one piece of me can remain north._

When they entered through the gates, her nephews and her niece were upon her at once as soon as she swung off of her horse. It was Lyanna who plunged into Arya's arms and she picked her up and swung her around. "Gods above, you're getting heavy." She glanced to her left to see that Little Ned was nearly at her shoulder. "And _you're_ getting tall. How old are you?"

"Nine years," little Ned said proudly.

 _Seven hells. He's going to outgrow me soon,_ she thought. Lyanna and Ben were still small at least, but somehow she knew they would all grow taller than her if given time. She dreaded the day when her own children passed her by. She knew they would, somehow. Most of the Lannisters were annoyingly tall, their father included.

"We want to meet our cousins," Lyanna crowed as Arya sat her down. "Let us meet them. Now, now."

That was right. They hadn't gotten a chance to meet yet. The last time Arya had visited the north, Tybolt was not yet born.

"All right, all right," Arya backed toward the carriage where the children were riding, leading her eager niece by the hand. Tybolt poked his head out between the curtains to look down. "Lyanna, this is Tybolt."

"Very pleased to meet you." She stuck out a hand. "I'm your cousin."

"Cousin," Tybolt repeated, trying out the word. He didn't seem to know what to do with her hand.

"You kiss it, silly. I'm a lady," Lyanna demanded.

Tybolt seemed to take her word for it, bending to kiss her hand. Lyanna giggled and helped him climb out of the cart. Jaime meanwhile had taken Elissa from one of the Septas and Ned and Ben had crowded around him.

"What's her name, Uncle Jaime?"

Arya couldn't help but smile to hear him called that. Who would have guessed that a Stark would ever call a Lannister 'uncle'.

"This is Elissa," Jaime said. "She's barely a year, so you must be gentle with her."

"Can I hold her?" Ned asked.

"Yes. Carefully," he warned as he slowly handed Elissa over. She squirmed a bit in Ned's grasp, confused by his unfamiliar face. But then she seemed to decide that she didn't mind it and reached out to grasp his nose. Ned was delighted.

"They rushed you before you even time to breathe," Robb's voice came from behind Arya. "Sorry about that."

Arya smiled, turning and catching her brother up in a hug. "They wanted to meet their cousins." She pulled back. "You haven't met them yet either, have you?"

"No. I'm afraid not. Hard to travel in the winter," Robb said.

"Well come on then. Come and meet them," Arya looped her arm through his, guiding him over. "Where's mother? She hasn't met Elissa yet either."

"She's on her way. Got caught up dealing with an issue with supper," Robb said. He knelt down as he came upon her son, a smile on his face. "This one is Tybolt? He's a Lannister if I ever saw one."

"Takes after his father," Arya said. "Tybolt this is Uncle Robb."

Tybolt looked him up and down and thrust out his hand. Robb gave it a little shake in greeting.

"Pleased to meet you, Tybolt."

"Gods, he's grown hasn't he?" Their mother swept into the yard then. "Last time I saw him he was a babe."

"Walking and talking now," Arya smiled, embracing her mother. "It's good to see you."

"You too. I hope the roads weren't difficult," Catelyn pulled back to cradle her face in her hands. "I've been hearing interesting stories about you."

Arya's lips twitched into a smile. "Some of them may be true. Others not."

"You can clear them all up at supper," Catelyn stepped back. "Let me see your girl, Arya. I've been waiting to meet her."

Arya led her mother to where Ned and Ben were fawning over Elissa and Catelyn joined them, taking her granddaughter into her arms. She was their only living grandparent, and Arya was glad they could have at least one.

It was such a strange scene to watch. Years ago, Arya had barely given thought to the idea of being a mother. How could she when she did not even know for sure if she would survive the winter. It was only after the Long Night was at its end that the Lannister legacy finally became the focus. But even then, she had wondered if she could manage it.

Watching her children now, in Winterfell...it made her feel warm enough to ignore the chill of the wind.

* * *

"I trust Sansa as well?" Catelyn asked over supper. They had time to talk as adults while the servants watched the children for a while. "I assume you have seen her more recently than I have."

"Yes," Arya said. "Her daughters are well too. I can't believe little Cat has grown so much."

"Well, she could hardly stay little forever," Robb said. "I still haven't met her second daughter. Wylla, wasn't it? Sansa was intending to visit soon but now it seems she's pregnant again."

"As if you can criticize," Jaime said, turning his spoon between his fingers. "Aren't all your children quite close in age, Lord Stark?"

"I was not criticizing. Just stating a fact," Robb said. But he did not seem particularly irritated by Jaime's remark. Arya was glad to see her husband and brother got on much better than they used to. Jaime's gift to Robb five years ago had lowered some of the walls between them. "Tybolt and Elissa are rather close in age as well. Do you have any news for us Arya?"

"None yet," she said. "Two are a handful enough right now."

"Speaking of news," Catelyn said. "Did you receive a raven from Jon before you left?"

"Yes I did," Arya said, smiling a bit. "It seems Margaery is also with child."

"Lovely that it worked out so well between them," Jaime commented.

"Yes," Robb said, glancing at Arya. "No one could have possibly predicted it."

Arya held up her hands defensively. "All I did was point Jon out to Margaery, Robb. She did the rest. You can't blame me for that."

"He's not blaming you, I'm sure," Catelyn said, giving Robb a pointed look. "It's a fine match for Jon."

"A fine match, aye. But I wish I could have had him here in the north." Robb sighed. "But I suppose Arya had other plans."

"You really should blame Margaery. Or Jon for that matter," Arya said innocently. "It was barely my plan."

Jaime snickered quietly behind his hand before he continued eating.

Their supper conversation strayed to many topics. From the recovery of the north and the Riverlands, to the gold problem in the west. The newly discovered silver mines were certainly helping keep the Lannister coffers full, but Arya knew better than to rest on that discovery. These mines were not nearly as expansive as the gold mines of Casterly Rock had once been and they would not last forever. She would need to look to other ways of expanding the Lannister fortunes outside of mining silver and collecting debt payments from the crown. But it was a start at least.

When supper was done, Arya excused herself from the table. "I think I'll visit the crypts. It's been too long since I have."

Her mother nodded once with a soft smile. "We'll wait for you here."

Arya had not visited the crypts since the last time she was in Winterfell three years previously. Before her children were born. It was harder to make the trip north in the middle of winter when one had small children who were not adapted to such cold.

But the crypts were as she remembered-ancient and full of memories and ghosts. She walked along the path until she found her father's statue. The stone face had always bothered her. It did not look like him. Arya could not clearly remember what he looked like anymore, but she knew it wasn't this. If the sculptor had captured his likeness...perhaps more memories of him would return to her.

"Father," Arya said. "It's...been awhile. Forgive me. It's good to see you again. Well not, 'see' but...as close as I can come to it." She rubbed her hands together. "Things are peaceful now. More peaceful than they were, though that's not a real feat. Thus far, Queen Daenerys seems to be taking to her role. I know you fought to unseat her father, the Mad King. I hope she will be better. I'm not eager to fight another rebellion.

"The west kept me away for the past few years. Not just children but...a few minor rebellions. I managed to deal with them. The Serrets in particular." Arya sighed. "I'll spare you the details but I think it worked out for the better. I'm not sure if I handled things how you would have but, I'm walking the line as best I can. I will try to continue. I hope...in spite of everything...you would be proud of me, father."

She looked up at his statue, longing for an answer, but knowing she would never receive one. Still, it seemed to her that her father _would_ be proud. She had not forgotten his teachings. She tried to deal fairly with most people. And whenever she passed a sentence, she swung the sword. Or the knife, depending on the punishment. But his were not the only teachings she followed.

"I miss you," she murmured into the darkness. Not just to her father. He was not the only one she missed after all. She missed Bran. She missed Rickon.

She missed Tywin.

The anniversary of his death had passed recently. She remembered visiting the crypts at Casterly Rock to speak to him. She did that quite a lot actually. It made her feel guilty sometimes that she talked more to Tywin Lannister's ghost than her own father. But then, she supposed she couldn't help that the northern crypts were so far away.

And she couldn't help that her memories of her father were more distant.

Tears started to burn at her eyes but she forced them down. "We'll speak again. Now that the summer is here...it will be easier for me to visit you." She stepped back from his statue. "I'm sorry..."

She didn't really know what she was apologizing for. Not visiting more often? Forgetting? Becoming a Lannister? All things that he wouldn't blame her for. But the apology felt necessary all the same.

She paid her respects to the other dead then returned to the surface. As she stepped out into the waning sunlight, the laughter of children reached her ears. Seven year old Lyanna was running circles around Tybolt as he struggled to keep up and little Ned, who had grown to a spindly nine year old was sitting with Elissa in his lap while Ben told her the names of all the wolves that circled through the courtyard, scaring the Lannister horses. From above, her mother and brother watched them fondly alongside her husband.

A great wave of nostalgia washed over Arya then. She remembered when she was a child playing in this very yard. And somehow she and her brother had survived to watch their own children play without a care in the world.

Jaime caught her eye and gave her a smile. She smiled in return. They were happy, and Arya found that she was happy too. But she was not settled. She remember once long ago in the halls of Harrenhal, when Lord Tywin told her that the War of Five Kings would be his last war...only to be flung headlong into a series of conflicts that nearly broke Westeros. She would never make the mistake of claiming any conflict as 'the last war'.

There was always another war. But at the very least...Arya was looking forward to the spring.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ ** _And so it ends._**

 ** _Just over a year ago, in the midst of another Game of Thrones hyperfixation, I watched all of Arya and Tywin's scenes back to back on a whim and found myself, not for the first time, wondering what would happen if he discovered her true identity. I checked for fanfiction to read but didn't find any that really clicked with me. So I decided, 'fuck it. I'm gonna write it myself'._**

 ** _At the time, I planned for it to be something like twenty chapters. It was more of a concept piece that would move through the years to see how Arya and Tywin's relationship evolved. Lots of time skips and kind of minimal plot. But as I kept writing, I kept discovering new story threads and new character arcs. I realized that in order to REALLY nail Tywin's character arc, I was going to have to take a lot of time and very, VERY gradually move him along, one centimeter at a time. My end goal was to see if I could get people to cry when I killed him. But I knew I would have to earn that._**

 ** _The regular update schedule started because I wrote about thirty chapters in one shot, therefore enabling me to easily update twice a week. Of course, by the time I caught up to the chapters I had written, I had a regular enough following that I didn't want to disappoint anyone, so I decided to see how long I could keep the updates going. I am a competitive being at heart and I made a challenge with myself: I would not miss a single update._**

 ** _And here we are, 108 chapters later, and the longest I missed an update by was a couple hours. But that would NOT have happened, if not for all of you. Your comments, your messages, your general love. Your sharing the fic with friends, making fanart etc. I kept on going because I didn't want to let any one of you down. And because I love that sweet, sweet validation. This is far and away my most popular fic I've ever written. Most hits, most comments, most follows. I really can't thank you all enough for all of that._**

 ** _I'm rambling at this point, but I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on this year and on this fic and on the end of an era. I'm not going away forever. I will be back with more fic so subscribe to me if you want updates for when I do post anything else. And please follow me on Tumblr as well at Kallypsowrites. You can message me there and ask about things. I am friendly._**

 ** _I hope you'll all follow me when I return, whenever that is. So, for the last time: Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!_**


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